Assisted Living
by SpidEMcD
Summary: Surprises are in store for House when Cuddy's new assistant keeps House in check until he finds out her dark secret. Features the PPTH gang and an O/C.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Rozamund Alonza sat across from the Dean of Medicine's desk taking notes as Dr. Lisa Cuddy gave her a rundown on her duties.

"Aside from the usual clerical work, your position, first and foremost, is to be the gatekeeper. That anteroom - your office - needs to function like the locks on the Panama Canal. I've had doctors, drug reps and patients barging in. We need to get a handle on that."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Roz smiled. She was up for the challenge.

Cuddy laughed sardonically. "You haven't met Dr. House."

Roz grinned appreciatively. "His reputation precedes him. Trust me, I can handle it."

Dr. Gregory House entered his conference room, tossed his backpack on the table and proceeded to procure a cup of coffee. The team trickled in shortly afterwards and settled into what promised to be a boring day.

House turned to face his underlings proudly announcing: "Since we have no patients or clinic duty I thought we could catch up on the latest gossip."

Dr. Chris Taub unceremoniously dumped his just poured cup of coffee and headed for the door.

"Where're you going?"

"To see if they need help in the clinic."

"Have fun wiping crotches." House took Taub's seat, leaned across the table and said, "So, Thirteen, who's the new skirt Cuddy was interviewing?"

Dr. Remy Hadley leaned across the table in mock excitement. "Oh my god, you saw her too! She was so hot - I wanted to take her right there on Cuddy's desk."

"I wa-"

"She's Cuddy's new assistant," Foreman growled. "And if you would have read the memo-"

"I'm not sure, but I think that was the piece of paper I used to get the gum off the bottom of my cane." House looked contemplative. "I didn't get to read it first, and then it got all sticky and yuck-"

"House, if you want to get to Cuddy, now you're going to have to go through her assistant."

"I'm looking forward to it," House replied evilly.

Wilson knew exactly who was entering when his door opened. "House, you're late. I was expecting your interruption five minutes ago."

"Wanna go have some fun?"

"At who's expense?"

"Why Cuddy's, of course."

"And what diabolical plan have you cooked up this time?"

"It seems she has a new-"

"Stop right there." Wilson put his hands up in a plea to curtail House.

"I'm told I have to go through her assistant if I want to get to Cuddy." House began twirling his cane as if in time to the cogs of his brain turning. "I should be able to get by her with a few well-chosen words."

Wilson stood up in objection. "Come on, House. Give the girl a break. Let her at least get a full day's pay."

"Why do you always try to spoil my fun?" House stamped his cane in mock anger and gimped out of Wilson's office.

When the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, House looked both ways before exiting. He walked across the lobby to the main doors, all the while trying to use his peripheral vision to spot his mark just inside the clinic. At the doors he looked out, looked over his shoulder and decided he could get a better view if he was actually outside looking in. Once outside he realized he looked rather stupid staring in, so he pretended to be interested in the sky, his fingernails and any other thing he could think of to help him not look so conspicuous. He had garnered a few looks from Reception and decided it was no good.

House spied a fast food bag that had just been dumped in the trash can a few feet away. He picked it up and headed back into the building. The ladies at reception eyed him curiously. He held up the bag. "My lunch has arrived," and continued toward the clinic.

Nurse Brenda looked up as House entered the clinic and tossed the bag into the closest trash. He walked up the to the Nurse's Station and started looking through files, occasionally glancing toward the Dean of Medicine's office. Brenda was on guard. House in the clinic when he didn't need to be could only mean trouble. She went into an empty exam room and made a call.

"Dr. Cuddy."

"House is in the clinic."

"Good! Let me know how many patients he ends up seeing."

"House is in the clinic-the team completed his clinic duty for the month two days ago."

"This could be bad." Cuddy sighed with trepidation. "Thanks for the heads-up."

Cuddy decided to play House's game and see how well the new girl was going to fare. "I'm going to lunch. Be ready for anything that might come up-especially with Dr. House."

"He's been stalking you all morning," Roz said, barely containing her laughter.

"No, my dear, our Dr. House has YOU in his sights."

This time Roz did chuckle. "Well, I guess I should be honored."

"Trust me, he's going to try to make you cry and quit. If I can give you a few words of advice: don't let him get to you...and no matter how much he harasses you, please don't quit!"

House watched as Cuddy and the assistant talked. Then Cuddy left and the game was on. He limped passed the patients, heading straight for Cuddy's office.

Roz saw him making a b-line to the office. He was coming to play her, and she wasn't sure which way to play him. Sometimes it was easier to make a person think they had won, simply by nipping the situation in the bud. Other times it was more entertaining to beat a person at their own game. Whichever she would choose, beating him was going to be fun.

House pushed open her door in a grandiose fashion, stepped across the threshold and approached her confidently. "I need to see Dr. Cuddy."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Since when do I need an appointment?" He was indignant.

"Since nine o'clock this morning. Would you like to make an appointment?"

"I want to see Dr. Cuddy NOW!"

"Oh, I misunderstood. I thought you said you NEEDED to see Dr. Cuddy.

"If you NEED to see her, then you NEED to make an appointment. Clearly you said you WANTED to see Dr. Cuddy."

"Yes, I did."

"Then you'll WANT to make an appointment." Roz opened up her appointment book. "Her first opening is at two thirty a week from this Thursday."

"That's if I WANT an appointment." The merest hint of a smile crossed House's lips.

"Correct."

"What if I NEED an appointment?" There was a mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

Roz consulted the calendar. "Well then...I think I can squeeze you in Wednesday morning at nine."

"Two days from now," House was incredulous.

"Yes."

"What if I told you it was an emergency?"

"That changes things." Roz kept her face and her voice emotionless.

"Good!" House figured he finally had her.

"What's the nature of your emergency?"

"Are you a doctor?" He was starting to feel flustered.

"No, I'm the person who is trying to schedule your appointment."

House started to fidget, using his cane for emphasis.

"How am I supposed to prioritize or cancel an existing appointment if I don't know the nature of your emergency?"

House sighed, buying himself some time to make something up. "I have a patient that needs a trans-rectal craniotomy."

Roz almost burst out laughing. "That sounds very painful. I personally don't think Dr. Cuddy will approve that procedure unless the patient's head is so far up the ass they can see their appendix."

"Okay, you got me," House said dripping with sarcasm. "It's a personal emergency."

"Ahh...I see. I might have an opening sooner. Perhaps I could enquire as to the nature of this personal emergency." She saw House cringe and braced for an explosion. "Of course, I'm only asking so that I may facilitate all of the necessary forms and/or personnel needed to downgrade your emergency to a situation."

House leaned heavily on his cane, scrunched up his face as if a headache had suddenly hit and rubbed his brow with the heel of his left hand. His whole hand wiped down his face to settle on his chin and rubbed at his beard. All the while he was trying to think of a good excuse. "You've probably noticed I have a disability and have to use a cane." He gave her the sad puppy dog face.

Roz just offered him an encouraging smile.

"The parking lot has recently been resurfaced and relined."

"Are you having a problem with the new surface?"

"Not exactly. I'm having problems with the lines. The new parameters are now outside the limits not to be exceeded by my medical condition."

"I see." Roz opened a desk drawer and extracted a form.

"What's that?" House stood up a little straighter and tried to inconspicuously lean in to read the form.

"Request to move a reserved parking space." She pre-filled some of the information. "Now, how far outside of the parameters is the current space?"

"Five feet, three and one half inches." He thought he caught her rolling her eyes. "Every step is excruciating."

Roz recovered by trying to fish out a fictitious eyelash that supposedly caused her to roll her eyes. "I understand." She finished her pretense. "I'll get this to Dr. Cuddy as soon as she returns from lunch. I think I can convince her to change your spot to something that involves less walking. I'm sure she'll want to take care of this immediately."

House felt the smirk cross his lips. He quickly faked a yawn. "Thank you. Dr. Cuddy is not unreasonable, but I would hate to have to remind her about the Americans with Disabilities Act."

Roz put her hand up in protest. "Oh no, we wouldn't want that to happen. Lord knows Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital doesn't need a scandal. I'll make sure Dr. Cuddy gets on this right away."

House suppressed an evil grin. _Man, this is going to be fun,_ he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Dr. Cuddy returned from lunch half expecting a disaster. Her heart sank as Nurse Brenda approached her in the lobby. "What did he do?" Cuddy braced herself.

"I'm not sure. He was smiling when he got done with her." "Smiling?"

"It was pretty frightening." Brenda was frowning.

Cuddy consulted her watch. "Four hours. That might be a new record for me." She headed for the clinic doors. "I suppose I should just give up."

"Why? She didn't leave."

Cuddy was shocked. "Did you check to see if she was still breathing?"

"I did, and she was smiling too." Brenda was completely flabbergasted.  
>"Oh, no." Cuddy looked toward her office fearfully. She barely got through the doors to the ante office when Roz broke out in a grin and started giggling to herself. Lisa slowed her pace, warily wondering if her new assistant was having a nervous breakdown. Roz looked up and met her eyes. There was a look of mirth there.<p>

"I don't know what happened in my absence, but the fact that you're still here is a shocker."

"Oh, come on." Roz shook her head, still giggling.  
>"Roz, this is a milestone!"<p>

"Can't be. Nothing happened to cause me to think anyone would quit after half a day."

"Then you haven't met the real Dr. House yet."

"Actually, he's the reason I'm laughing. He's quite a character."

"You met House and you haven't quit yet?" Lisa Cuddy felt the first pang of hope loosen the tension in her chest. "Amazing."

"This place is like the Twilight Zone meets General Hospital. It's one hell of a soap opera."

"You find Dr. House amusing?"

"Utterly."

"Than I only have one bit of advice for you: Watch your back. He's rarely nice, and if he hasn't tried to shake you up, it's coming."  
>Lisa went through to her office.<p>

"Let me know when you get settled. I can share Dr. House's complaint with you."

"Oh," Cuddy felt the other shoe was about to drop.

"Don't worry, haven't gone over to the dark side. His complaint appears legitimate. I put in a maintenance request and began filling out the appropriate forms. I even have a call into legal about a temporary solution to his problem. If they okay it, I'm sure you'll approve."

"Follow me," Cuddy's interest was piqued.

Roz grabbed her steno book and House's parking file. She peeked under her desk, mumbled "stay" and limped into Dr. Cuddy's office.

She recounted her encounter with Dr. House. Cuddy laughed at the appropriate times, but was mostly astounded by House playing the disability card. "Doesn't he realize-"

Roz shook her head. "He hasn't seen me in action, so to speak. Natasha was alert but not concerned, so he didn't know about her either."

"You said you had a plan?"

"I put in a request to have maintenance verify the distance. Then I pulled out his parking file," Roz held it up for Dr. Cuddy to see. "It's a bit thick."

Lisa Cuddy blushed then quickly recovered. "Dr. House drives a motorcycle in the summer, so he parks outside. In the winter he drives a car, so we get him closer to the entrance or in a parking ramp."

"I take it he's rarely happy with his parking spaces. There seems to be more changes than twice a year."

Cuddy smirked. "It's my way of punishing Dr. House. He doesn't seem to mind other disciplinary measures - well, actually he ignores them - but he hates having his routine changed. By changing his parking space, I can get him to do just about anything."

"That's mean," Roz snickered.

"So what's your plan?" Dr. Cuddy leaned in with great anticipation.  
>"I know we don't have a lot of available handicapped parking spaces for staff, but there are quite a few in the student lot. Supposed we put Dr. House in the space behind the shuttle stop in Student Lot A. It's about five feet to the bench, where he can wait for the shuttle, which will then bring him right to the front doors. He won't have to walk more than ten yards, max."<p>

Cuddy couldn't help but laugh. "And you say I'm mean."

# # #

Roz rounded up her wallet and the leash for Natasha so she could head out for lunch. She was a little self-conscious going through the clinic and out the lobby. There were so many more people there midday compared to in the morning. She hadn't gotten a good feel for how the staff would respond to the dog.

Thankfully no one seemed to care. They probably figured she was just another patient. As Roz reached the front doors, a handsome guy went out of his way to open them for her. She found herself smiling back at him a bit longer than was polite. The next thing Roz knew she was splayed on the ground.

"Are you okay?" He was leaning over her ready to help her up.

"I'm fine, just a bit embarrassed." Roz felt the heat creep into her checks.

"Let me help you up." He held out his hand.

"No it's okay, I've got it." Natasha moved into position so that Roz could lean on her to get back on her feet. The dog stayed up against her left side as she limped to a bench.

"Let me at least check you out, make sure you're okay."

"It's okay. If I need a doctor, there's a whole bunch in there." Roz raised her skirt hem to inspect her brace.

"I happen to be a doctor, myself."

"Unless you're an orthopedist, I don't think you can help."

"Oncologist. Dr. James Wilson."

"Nice to meet you. I suppose you don't have any three-in-one oil on you? This damn joint is starting to lock up."

"Gee, I left that in my other lab coat." Wilson patted down his pockets.

"I'll make do. I just have to get the dog to do her business then I'll head back in."

"Wait," Wilson reached into his pocket and pulled out a single-serve packet of mayonnaise. "We could try this."

"You're a regular MacGuyver."

"Oil's oil."

"Do you carry all condiments in your pockets, or just mayo?" She applied a dab of the greasy substance to the knee joint of her brace.

"I have a friend who likes to eat my lunch. I stuffed the sandwich in my other pocket. I figure if he can't see my lunch, he can't eat it."

"Clever." She extended and flexed her knee a few times to lubricate the metal. "Just a few words of advice if you're going to keep wearing your lunch: stay away from tuna and peanut butter."

Wilson chuckled with her. She reminded him of House in more ways than one.

"I gotta walk the dog. See you around."

James Wilson loitered just long enough to watch the girl and the dog return to the clinic. He had to admit, he was intrigued by her. Once she was out of sight, he headed toward the picnic tables by the lake. It was going to be nice to enjoy a whole sandwich for lunch without interruption.

He reached into his pocket, procured a napkin and spread it out on the table in front of him. Next came the sandwich, followed by the condiments and a plastic knife to spread them. The perfect sandwich was set in front of him. All he had to do was dispose of the little packets in the garbage can behind him and he'd be ready to eat in peace.

Unfortunately when he turned back to the sandwich, House was sitting across from him with a quarter of it already gone and the rest of the half about to be eaten.

"Jesus, House!"

"Hey, you're a Jew. You don't believe he's a deity, so stop blaspheming."

"I didn't hear you limp up."

"I was only a table away. You seemed a bit distracted."

"I guess I was; otherwise, I would have never turned my back on you."

"So what's got your panties in a bunch? Another oh-so-brave-yet-terminally-ill-cancer kid? Or maybe it's a dying mother of three."

"Just because you suppress your emotions doesn't make me weak to show mine." Wilson snatched up the rest of his sandwich before his friend could grab it.

"So what's got your brain befuddled?"

"I met someone." He took a bite to avoid saying more.

"When's the wedding?" House studied the other man's face for any inkling he was on the right track.

"I just met her on the way to lunch," Wilson tried to sound exasperated.

"Have you filed for divorce yet?"

"I don't even know her name!"

"Sure you do. It's Mrs. James Wilson."

"She was a patient from the clinic." Wilson tried nonchalance.

House sighed heavily, hanging his head in defeat. "Do I have to remind you what kind of people present at the clinic?"

"She had a service dog with her."

"The future former Mrs. James Wilson has an STD detecting pooch...cool."

"You're an ass."

"No kidding. I know you're just dying to tell me about your new love."  
>"She fell, I helped her out." Wilson folded his hands on the table and stared determinedly at House.<p>

House mimicked his friend's posture. "Did you trip her?"

"You mistake me for you." Wilson was quiet for a few moments. "Ever see the movie 'The Killer Elite'?"

House nodded solemnly. "She looks like a young James Caan?"

Wilson sighed with frustration. "No you idiot. She had on a knee brace and it locked up on her."

"I bet she can kick your butt, too." House smirked as he entertained that thought.

"Probably," he nodded.

They were silent for a few minutes, neither one sure what to say next.

"She reminds me of you," Wilson wanted to keep control of the conversation so that House wouldn't go off on a mean tangent.

"Let me guess, she likes long walks on the beach and Parchesi." House half stood to peer over the table to see if Wilson was hoarding anything else. "Didn't you bring anything to drink?"

"You're close," he said, wanting to push House's buttons. "She's lame."

"Yeah, but I've got a cool cane."

"You have a cane; she has a canine."

House's mood changed without warning. "Next time you wanna talk lame-"

"I was being nice. I could have said 'crippled'."

House was on his feet heading back when he turned on his friend. "The next time you buy a tie, make sure you try in on so you don't look crippled."

Wilson wanted to shout out that his remark was lame, but he bit his tongue. He had teasingly referred to House as a cripple before, and so had House. Today something was different and he wasn't sure why.

As House reached the hospital entrance he stopped to pop a Vicodin. Earlier he had felt absolutely foolish for complaining about the extra five feet or so of walking he did from his parking space, but just walking from the lake was enough to get the leg screaming. He made his way across the lobby to the clinic. Just maybe Wilson's new girlfriend was still waiting to be seen. He peered around the waiting room then scowled when Nurse Brenda caught his eye.

"Dr. House, we could use your help if you're not too busy."

"I've got an appointment in -"

"Reschedule your nap," Dr. Cuddy snuck up behind him.

House looked at his watch. "I suppose I can give you an hour-but only if I can choose my patients."

_Oh brother, here we go_, Cuddy thought. "Great, you're an infectious disease guy - you get all the possible STDs, colds, flu and typhoid cases."

House puffed out his cheeks. "I'm bored with that. I'll take orthopedic issues for five hundred, Alex."

Cuddy surveyed the waiting room then turned to Brenda. "Do we have enough to keep him occupied?"

"We could bend a few fingers and step on some toes as we put patients in rooms."

House scowled harder. "I'm serious."

"Brenda fingered through the files after Cuddy approved House's request with a nod. "I have two." She handed both files to House.

"Knock yourself out," Cuddy said sarcastically.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

On Wednesday morning at nine a.m. the Dean of Medicine was sitting at her desk ready for her appointment. Every few minutes Roz looked out towards the clinic expecting Dr. House to come barging in. Nine fifteen came and went, and still no doctor. Roz looked in on her boss. She was on the phone while signing some paperwork. The office door opened. Roz expected to see Dr. House but was pleasantly surprised.

"Hello, Dr. Wilson."

Wilson was shocked. "You," he pointed between Roz and the clinic. "I thought you were visiting the clinic."

"Nope, just out for lunch. We haven't been formally introduced," she said standing. "Roz Alonza.

"Please, sit," Wilson offered while shaking her hand. His face showed concern. "How's the leg issue?"

"The mayonnaise worked wonders. Unfortunately the dog licked most of it off."

They both laughed.

"So what can I do for you?"

"I was hoping to chat with Dr. Cuddy."

Roz looked up at the clock. "Her nine o'clock was a no-"

"Wilson, come on in," Cuddy called from her door. "Roz, legal okayed the parking situation. Go ahead and type up a memo with the directions, attach the permit and a copy of the request. CC legal and I'll deliver it."

"Got it," Roz grinned.

Wilson smiled at her as he entered Cuddy's office. Once the door closed he felt safe to start asking questions.

"She's been here three days. That's a record!"

"I know," Cuddy smiled widely. "I've never had an assistant last more than a few hours."

"I take it she hasn't met House." Wilson's face turned serious. "On Monday he threatened to destroy her."

Cuddy laughed. "She met House. As a matter-of-fact, she has a good handle on his M.O. I might actually let her deny his crazy requests."

"Really?" Wilson's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

"She thinks it's fun."

"No way. Her and House tete-a-tete?" Wilson looked over his shoulder at Roz. "Seriously?"

"She's smart, she's organized and I don't have to hand hold her."

Cuddy sat back in her chair and put her feet up on the desk. "Speaking of House..." Cuddy switched topics. "What's up with him? He offered to help out at the clinic on Monday and only wanted to see orthopedic cases."

Wilson shrugged. "Maybe he took too much Vicodin."

Cuddy shook her head negatively.

"Maybe he's thinking of changing his major and wanted to bone up on the subject."

"He came in, we asked for help, and he accepted on that one condition."

"Monday...Monday...what happened on Monday?" Wilson was curious.

"It was right after lunch."

"Oh," Wilson frowned. "Don't worry about it. It was just House being an ass."

Cuddy leaned forward over her desk. "Okay, you got me. It was a bet. How much did you lose?"

"That depends." Wilson was unknowingly frowning. After a few moments he remembered why he stopped by. "Anyway, I wanted to confirm our meeting with Tom Harrison on Friday. I've kept the morning open in case he wants to tour the oncology wing."

Cuddy pulled out her calendar. "Roz already confirmed. Now all we need to do is to help him to decide how much he wants to spend."

Wilson hesitated as he passed Roz's desk. He turned to her as if he might say something. Then took a step towards Cuddy's door, then did a one- eighty; all the while alternating between smiling and frowning.  
>"Did you forget something?" Roz had seen guys behave this way before. She found it kind of charming.<p>

Wilson looked to her with surprise. "I actually was going to tell Dr. Cuddy something, but I've lost my train of thought."

"Hopefully it wasn't too important."

"Probably not." Wilson turned to leave again and then hesitated. "I'm going to be eating lunch outside again. Over by the lake usually. I thought you might like to join me," he blushed. "I mean it's a nice area and your dog would have space to roam around."

Roz smiled at him. _Nice recovery_, she thought. "Thanks for the invite, but I've got an appointment on my lunch." She noted the doctor's face fall ever so slightly. "Gotta get the brace adjusted."

"Good," he nodded awkwardly.

"I'll look for you on my way back. If you're still out, I'll stop by."

"On your way back? You're only going up a few floors." Wilson was confused. She was sending mixed signals.

"My people are at Princeton General."

"Oh," his voice held a hint of betrayal.

"They know my case," she said almost apologetically.

"It would be silly to change anything at this point," Wilson said matter-of-factly.

"Don't worry Dr. Wilson. If I'm ever diagnosed with cancer, you'll be the first person I come to," she teased.

"Let's hope that never happens."

Wilson left feeling elated. He was the center of attention and he hadn't even known it. House had met Roz. Wilson then met Roz. Wilson told House, House went looking in the clinic for her. This meant House hadn't figured it out. Or maybe he had and was just too embarrassed to let anyone know Cuddy's assistant had outwitted him.

"Wipe that grin off your face." House was sitting in his chair with his leg up, seemingly engrossed in his gameboy.

"Let's do lunch today out by the lake."

The noises from the video game culminated with the sound of a crash as House's attention was focused on his friend. "You buying?"

"Don't I always?"

"It's not my birthday, so what's the catch?" House eyed him suspiciously.

"No reason in particular."

"Uh huh." House got up and moved to his desk. Wilson sat across from him. "You want something."

"I thought we could discuss your new found love for orthopedics."

"Needed a change." House turned so he was facing his computer screen. He deflected by scrolling through his email.

Wilson pursed his lips and thought about his next line of questioning. "Okay..."

"Okay what?" House clicked out of email and began to surf the web.  
>"Are you avoiding Cuddy for any particular reason?" It sounded more accusatory than Wilson meant.<p>

"Been busy."

"Oh, that's right. You've become the clinic's newest orthopod."

"Alright already!" House faced Wilson. "I checked out the clinic to meet you're new girlfriend. Satisfied?"

"Ah, the elusive future Mrs. James Wilson's got to you."

"I just wanted to find out which one of your ex-wives she reminded you of."

"She's more like Amber," he said wistfully.

There was silence for a while. Finally House was uncomfortable with it. "So you're one step closer to finding the perfect female version of me. Now you've got a cut-throat bitch with a limp."

"Feeling threatened?"

"She's not a doctor, so...no."

"By the way, you had a nine o'clock meeting scheduled with Cuddy."

"No I didn't."

"You scheduled it Monday morning with her assistant."

"I don't do 'scheduled'."

"Who are you really avoiding, Cuddy or her assistant?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Livid. It was the only way to describe Greg House's demeanor. When the doors swung open hard enough to rattle the glass, Roz knew there was going to be trouble.

"Relax," Roz reached down to calm Natasha.

"Don't tell me to relax!" House's voice boomed throughout the room as he headed towards Cuddy's door.

Roz slid her chair in his path. "You can't go in there now."

"Move or I'll move you." He eyed her in the chair feeling he had a definite advantage over her.

"This isn't the appropriate time," Roz stood her ground.

Cuddy and her guests were distracted by the commotion. Cuddy's eyes widened in terror.

House leaned over Roz, his face in hers. "Where's my parking space?"

"Dr. House, please back up." Roz could see that Natasha had come out of hiding and was ready to pounce. A low growl escaped the dog's bared teeth.

House grabbed each arm of the chair until he was nose to nose with Cuddy's assistant. "Little girls who play with fire get burned."

"Please," Roz tried to stay calm but it didn't keep the desperation from her voice.

In the blink of an eye mayhem broke out. Cuddy and Wilson got to the door as Natasha rode House to the ground. The commotion that ensued brought people running from every direction. Roz was clutching at her chest, hyperventilating in the throes of a panic attack. House was on the ground with a fifty-five pound dog sitting on his chest, his left arm in the dog's mouth. Cuddy didn't know what to do first. Wilson was stunned. Nurse Brenda was standing at the doors next to a security guard who had his gun drawn.

"Somebody call off this dog!" House roared.

Roz tried to calm herself. "Natasha, leave him," she gasped between breaths.

The dog spit out House's arm and gamboled over to Roz's side. She sat at attention, her tongue lolling to the side and her tail wagging.

"Brenda get me one milligram of Xanax," Cuddy ordered as she tended to Roz.

Wilson attended to House, who was writhing on the ground in pain. "Let me take a look at it."

House guarded his arm close to his body as if letting go would cause it to fall off.

"It doesn't seem to be bleeding."

"Not externally, anyway," House continued to wince and grimace as Wilson rolled up his sleeve.

"There's some bruising," Wilson handed House his arm back. "We'll get an X-ray to be safe."

"Might need and MRI, too," House groaned as he tried to sit up.

"An MRI, House? Come on."

"Crush injury, Cuddy. That dog's got the jaws of a pitbull."

Wilson helped him to stand, but House was off balance. His leg was killing him worse than his arm.

"I need a wheelchair in here," Wilson called to Brenda.

"Wouldn't need one if I had a parking space." House glared at Cuddy.

"You do," she spat back. "I personally placed the new information in your in-box."

"You should go home and rest." Cuddy checked Roz's pulse. Her vital signs had returned to normal shortly after administering the anti-anxiety medication.

"I'm sorry," Roz said for the umpteenth time.

"We'll sort through this. When you come back on Monday, it will have all blown over."

"You mean I still have my job?"

"I'm sure Dr. House is fine."

"No breaks, no swelling, no soft tissue damage. Aside from a little bruising, there doesn't seem to be any trauma at all," Wilson snapped the X-ray on the light box. "I can barely tell anything happened."

"You weren't the one bitten," House huffed.

Wilson had a few choice words for House, but he kept them to himself.

"Take some Vicodin, you'll feel better."

Lisa Cuddy had reviewed her patient's file before entering his office. She found him lounging on his chair, feet up with a medical journal in his lap. "You make it look pretty serious considering you've barely got a mark on you."

House adjusted the knot of the sling around his neck. "Need I remind you I was attached by a dog in YOUR hospital?"

"About that," Cuddy grabbed a chair from in front of his desk and sat across from him.

"Oh brother, here it comes," House frowned.

"You threw a tantrum in my outer office. You threatened a fellow employee. And you embarrassed me and Wilson, as well as yourself."

"And all I got was a lousy dog bite out of the deal."

"You behaved like a child."

"So it's my fault? Hello!" House pointed to his bandaged arm. "I'm the victim here."

"You're the victim?" Cuddy stood up and pointed her finger at him. "You provoked Roz into an anxiety attack over this!" She marched to his in-bin, pulled off the top sheets and threw them at House. "I'm sure you were too busy watching your soaps to check your damn mail.

"On Monday you're going to apologize to her." Cuddy walked out without giving House a chance to respond.

House closed the journal, tossing it aside so he could review his parking information. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered while extracting himself from the chair. Using his desk for support, he maneuvered himself into his task chair and opened up a word document on his computer. At the blank screen he began typing.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

On Sunday night Lisa Cuddy checked her email and work calendar via her home computer. It didn't usually phase her to see emails from colleagues or Board members, but tonight she was shocked. There were at least ten messages marked 'URGENT', all with the same attachment.

She slumped in her chair dreading the worst. She clicked through each email, printing them out. Finally she printed out the attachment and settled in to review the paper trail.

As she read on, Cuddy sighed with frustration. She opened her desk drawer, retrieved a manila file folder and put the emails in it. On the tab she wrote HOUSE v. ALONZA. Cuddy desperately wanted to call House and tell him what an ass he was being, but thought better of it. Instead she dialed another number.

Wilson's phone rang right at the punch line of his friend's joke. "Sorry, gotta take this," he apologized as Cuddy's name and number appeared on his _i_phone. "Wilson."

He listened intently for a few moments. "The patient was stable the last time I checked in...No I didn't see that report." He looked briefly to House and then back at his plate. "I'm just finishing dinner." He checked his watch. "I'll check in about a half hour." He hung up and gave House his full attention.

"What did Cuddy want," House asked nonchalantly as he drank his beer.

"How did you know it was Cuddy?" Wilson was often amazed by his friend's powers of deduction.

"You'll find out soon enough." House liked baiting his friend.

Cuddy's next call was to Roz, who answered rather quickly, giving her no time to prepare what she was going to say.

"Uh, Roz, hi, it's Lisa Cuddy. Sorry to be calling you so late, but—"

"You're firing me," Roz's voice carried a hint of bitterness.

"No. I just wanted to give you the heads up. The Board is meeting first thing in the morning, so I will be in the conference room when you get in."

Roz felt more than heard the tension in her boss's voice. "You could have just left me a note."

"I'm sorry. There's more. I'm going to need to you write up a brief paragraph explaining your need for the service dog and the training she's had. I'll attach that to your doctor's statement...I'm sorry."

Roz shook her head. "I don't even need to guess."

"It would really help if you could type up a statement of what happened to provoke the attack. That way the Board won't have to ask for it."

"I'll do it now and email it...Are you sure you still want me to come back to work?"

"If Dr. House wasn't so damned good at what he does, I'd suspend him."

"Or move his parking space to Trenton," Roz said without thinking.

Cuddy laughed out loud. "That's good. I like you working for us. I think Dr. House is putting you through the ultimate test. Don't worry, though, you'll do fine."

"Thanks," Roz whispered, trying to keep her tears from being heard. She hung up the phone, turning all of her attention toward Natasha. "Well girl, I think you bit off more than we can chew."


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Roz had done all that her boss asked, but it hadn't eased her mind. In fact, her brain ran through all kinds of scenarios leading to insomnia. It was three in the morning when she realized she should have taken something to help her sleep, but by then it was already too late. On nights like this Natasha stayed awake with her. When her alarm clock started to buzz, Roz felt she could sleep for a week. Exhaustion started creeping in, creating a fuzzy haze around every facet of her being. It was starting to be the day from hell and she hadn't even gotten into the shower yet.

The early morning hours at the hospital were calm compared to the rest of the day. Yet Roz sensed an air of impending doom. She wasn't looking forward to facing Dr. Cuddy and prayed to god that Dr. House had the wherewithal to keep a low profile. She settled into her desk with a large cup of coffee while Natasha snored peacefully under the desk.

House was at the white board listing the symptoms for his latest cast. His fellows were ecstatic to have something to challenge them as well as get them out of clinic duty. Foreman sat back with his arms folded across his chest watching his boss struggle to maintain balance while writing. The last time House looked that awkward was when a physical therapist forced him to use a quad cane on the proper side. That lasted all of about ten minutes. House's pride wouldn't let him show weakness, so this injury had to be emotionally killing him.

As if House could feel his thoughts, he walked over to his senior team member and handed him the dry erase marker. "Foreman, you're up. I gotta sit."

Thirteen read from the file, filling in the symptoms the boss had left off.

"Differential diagnosis for all these crappy symptoms, people. And the first person to suggest lupus will be working the clinic 40 hours a week."

"Multi-system organ failure suggests-" But Taub didn't get to finish his thought. Dr. Cuddy burst into the room more annoyed than they had ever seen her.

"Congratulations, House. You've taken asshood to a new level!" She tossed the Board's resolution at him and left.

House ignored the differential to review the document. The fellows waited until he was paying attention again.

"Now that your ego is placated, can we move on to diagnosing this patient?"

"Run an ANA and D-dimers. It looks like lupus," House smiled triumphantly.

"You look like hell," Dr. Cuddy offered as she entered her ante office.

"Thanks, I needed to hear that," Roz stifled a yawn. "Sorry, Don't mean to be a bitch. I didn't sleep last night."

"I understand."

"Dare I ask how the meeting went?"

"I need to talk to you about that. The Board has agreed with Dr. House, much to their chagrin. Legal is also in on this to protect your rights. They want the dog to undergo an evaluation with a behaviorist and to be checked out by a vet. Until that time she will be barred from hospital property." Dr. Cuddy handed her a copy of the Board's resolution. "I'm so sorry."

"I should probably take the dog home now," Roz whispered. A mounting feeling of dread tightened in her chest.

"We want to make sure we follow the rules with this case. It could set a precedent that would be detrimental to anyone with a service animal."

Roz took a few deep breaths before grabbing her stuff.

"It was unanimous that a security escort to and from your car would be provided for you." Cuddy was registering all of her assistant's anxiety. "This shouldn't take more than a week. If you can get through the next few days-"

"This is going to be one of the longest weeks of my life."

"I have faith you'll get through it," Dr. Cuddy tried to smile convincingly. "Get some sleep and start back tomorrow fresh. Security will be expecting you to call when you reach campus."


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

By midday Monday several rumors were circulating the hospital corridors. The official clinic grapevine was that House attacked Cuddy's assistant, who, in turn, had her dog attack House. Cameron heard in the ER that Cuddy's assistant attacked House because he mistreated her dog. The buzz in the cafeteria was that House had sexually harassed Cuddy's assistant, who had her dog _'sic'_ him. The only problem was that the dog bit his hand instead of his 'nads. Each area of the hospital seemed to treat him worse than usual. If looks could kill, Dr. Gregory House would be six feet under.

It wasn't until he ran across Dr. Chase that he learned there was an inter-departmental betting pool taking place. The department that got closest to the truth was being supplied with a catered lunch.

"So what happened," Chase asked as if none of the rumors were even remotely close. "I heard you gave the poor girl a heart attack."

"Your concern for my health and well-being is staggering."

"Mentally, we all know you're unbalanced. Physically..." Chase pointed to House's bandaged arm, "You're probably milking a non-existent injury."

"Why would I do that," House took up an overly defensive posture.

"That's what's got me confused, since you don't like people paying attention to your lack of physicality." Chase signed off on the chart he had been reviewing before House showed up.

House puffed out his cheeks then frowned. "Let me know when all of the stories have trickled in. Then I'll tell you what really happened."

House made his way to Cuddy's office. He was surprised to find Roz had gone. He knew she had come in as he had spied her at her desk earlier in the morning. _All the better,_ he thought. At least now he didn't have to confront her.

"What do you want, House," Cuddy called from her desk. "I'm not in the mood to be jerked around." She didn't even bother to look up from her paperwork.

"Did she quit?" House voice betrayed a hint of concern.

"You'd like that, I'm sure. But no, she didn't quit. I sent her home because you're an ass."

"Great, now that we've got that all cleared up...I'm sure you've heard through the grapevine-"

"Not interested. Besides the minutes to the Board Meeting become public on Wednesday morning, so you won't have to embarrass yourself further."

"Then I have a whole day," House muttered.

"I'd use it wisely if I were you."

"Well then...since you expected me to apologize to your assistant, you have a choice. You can either give me her phone number or her address."

Cuddy snorted with derision, "Yeah, right. If I give you her private information and you harass her outside of work...go play with your Gameboy."

"I'm going to take a half sick day," House announced.

Cuddy looked up with her jaw agape. "You can't leave; you have a patient."

"My team can handle it." There was an awkward pause. "Is there a form I have to fill out? Or can I just go?" He fidgeted a bit.

"Be available in case we need you."

House entered a little hole in the wall bar not far from campus. It wasn't difficult to find the person he was looking for; after all, it was midday and only alcoholics and businessmen would be drinking at this time. He was surprised the place was even open; but Lucas Douglas had yet to lead him astray. House found him behind the bar, dressed in a Budweiser beer delivery costume as he was affixing a new handle on the beer tap.

Lucas poured a beer and slid it in front of House. "Wilson's new girlfriend?"

"Cuddy's new assistant," House started drinking before he gave away too much.

"Doesn't make sense. You like Cuddy."

"Still do. Just curious about her latest hire."

"You were right. Nothing pops up on Facebook, MySpace or Twitter. I even checked out LinkedIn, but all I found there was a general bio and a resume." He pulled out a folded up piece of paper and handed it to House. "Doesn't say much."

House looked at the printout. "Why is she so hard to get info on?" He was mumbling more to himself than actually asking a question. "Check her references listed here and see if she's still a student anywhere."

"I suppose you'll want any embarrassing info too." Lucas polished off the tap with pride.

"Naturally. I want to know who she is, what her rising sign is and the color of her underwear, if you can find it."


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tuesday dawned with storm clouds on the western horizon. Roz rolled over as her alarm went off, immediately feeling for Natasha . It was going to be hard not having the dog at her side for the rest of the work week. Anxiety was already making her nauseous. Instead of getting out of bed, she cuddled with her companion.

On the other side of town, House reached out from under the covers to silence his alarm clock. He let out a moan while peeling off the bedding. Immediately he reached for the bottle of Vicodin on the night stand. Once the pills were swallowed, he pulled the covers up over his head hoping to hibernate until some of the pain subsided.

Both Roz and House got out of bed at the very last possible minute in order to get ready and get to work on time; although House's concept of "on time" was a little more loosely translated. Roz was already settled in and working diligently when House arrived at the clinic.

Nurse Brenda greeted him with a wry smile. "Looks like the arm healed just in time for the bad weather." She handed him a chart. "The patient in Room Two asked for you specifically."

House frowned at her. "This is a walk-in clinic. I don't take requests." He hobbled away crankily.

"Glad to see you're still in pain," she mumbled sarcastically.  
>House shot her a sour look.<p>

"We wouldn't want you not to be miserable."

He was tempted to respond but decidedly barged into the exam room. He regretted it immediately as the patient was in a position that could only mean one thing. House sighed heavily and gloved up.

"So you think you have a - oh my god, you're a guy!" House pulled his head out from between the legs and took a good look at the patient. He read the name on the chart: DARLA LUCAS. "Ah, god! I'm never going to be able to erase that vision from my brain."

"I told you I was no good at disguises, but the nurse told me I had to lie down and put my feet in the stirrups. So I did."

"Ahh! Enough already." House put the heels of his palms into his eyes and tried to rub away the visual. "What have you got for me?" He was torn between vomiting and being excited about new information. He wanted whatever Lucas had for him, but UGH, the site of...immediately he started visualizing snapping a rubber band against his wrist while repeating _stop thinking about it_. There wasn't enough Vicodin on hand to delude him from what he had seen. "Spill it."

Lucas sat up and straightened his skirt. "Okay, so I started with her education. Easy enough or so I thought. But guess what?"

"No record of her at that school." House pulled a red lollipop out of his pocket, ripped off the wrapper and popped it into his mouth.

"Yeah, and the same with her work experience."

"So our little friend is a pretender."

"There's more," Lucas opened his purse and handed House several sheets of paper.

"An obituary for Rozamund Gibbs, nee Alonza. Interesting." House scanned through article.

"Take a look at the list of survived by."

"Roslyn Santa Lucia." It dawned on House what Lucas and discovered. "She changed her name."

"Bingo." Lucas hopped down from the exam table. "I've got her transcripts, her work history, her rising sign...and there's a little something extra I found in the local papers. You should probably read it in private." He headed for the door and turned before exiting. "And today I'll uncover the color of her underwear."

House slipped the documents into Darla Lucas's file. "Planning on following her into the ladies' room and watching her pee?"

While House was entertaining patients in the clinic, Wilson made up his mind to visit Roz and invite her to lunch. He opened the door and poked his head in the office. "Hi, you got a minute?"

"Sure, what can I do for you?" Roz stopped what she was doing and gave him her undivided attention.

Wilson entered fully. "I just wanted to know if you'd like to accompany me to the cafeteria for lunch...if you don't already have plans."

"Um, okay, I guess," Roz was hesitant. "Well, maybe I should just stay here like I planned."

"I thought I'd make it easier for you to get away from your desk if I escort you there...seeing how your dog isn't available."

"Uh, okay...I think?"

"I mean who would help you up if you fall again?" Wilson was trying too hard to withhold the fact that he knew why she really needed an assist animal.

"Dr. Wilson, you're really starting to creep me out."

"Oh god," Wilson hid his face in his hands. "I'm sorry. I just-"

"Ah, now I get it. You're on the Board." Roz smiled slyly. "Feeling guilty?"

"For a lot of reasons," Wilson blushed.

"We can discuss it over lunch."

Shortly after noon House left the clinic and went up to his office to retrieve his reading glasses. A few minutes later he burst through Dr. James Wilson's door unannounced.

"Wilson! It's lunchtime-let's go."

His friend glanced at his watch. "I have to finish this paperwork and then I have an appointment."

"Bummer," House really meant it. "I just got some juicy info on a certain someone and I thought you might be interested."

"There's nothing you could find out about anyone we know that would interest me."

Wilson's dismissal was to be expected. House shrugged. "Suit yourself."

The door slammed shut without another word.

Wilson and Roz approached the cafeteria laughing. "...And then I asked him if he had a brother named double stuffed."

Wilson snorted, "Double Stuffed Oroyo."

Roz's smile faded. "Yeah, I thought it was funny too, but he didn't. I never talked to him again-or should I say he never talked to me again."

"His loss," Wilson shrugged. His good natured grin faded as the sign just inside the cafeteria promoted that it was 'Reuben Tuesday'.

Roz noticed his change in demeanor. "What's wrong? Got a thing against corned beef?"

"On occasion."

Roz watched in silence as James Wilson grabbed silverware for three and proceeded to order lunch. "I'll have the Asian salad; a reuben, dry no pickles with fries; and..." He turned to Roz.

"A reuben, no corned beef-but I'll take the stuff he didn't want with his, plus the fries."

Wilson looked at her with curiosity. "Got a thing against corned beef?"

"Yep."

Before long they were seated and Roz noted Wilson put the sandwich aside. "Let me guess, your food stealing friend is going to show up."

"To expect anything less would be futile."

"So when can we expect him?" Roz plowed into her fries, dredging them through the excess of Russian dressing. She wasn't expecting a group lunch date and thought if she could get through her food before the mystery guest showed up, it would be easier to make a get-a-way.

"Hopefully no time soon. Now, about the Board's decision."

"Hey I was just kidding. I understand they had to do what they had to do. I'm okay with it."

"I guess I feel guilty by association. I'm on the Board, and Dr. House is my friend."

"I'm not upset with Dr. House either...Well, okay, I am," Roz snorted. "Could we move on to a different subject?"

"Wow!" Wilson nearly choked on his salad. "Blunt and honest. I'm used to deflection."

"I can deflect if you really need me to."

"No, really. This is a welcomed change."

"So how long have you been working here?"

"Somewhere near a decade. I lost count."

Roz nodded in appreciation.

"How long have you been in rehab mode...if you don't mind me asking?"

"The last surgery was about six months ago. I still go to PT three times a week." Roz talked about it like it was nothing significant.

"That's fantastic!" James was excited for her progress. "You seem to be coming along very well."

"Yeah, my doctor is pleased. I, on the other hand, am getting restless. I want to get back to my real life."

It was Wilson's turn to nod appreciatively. "Still, a functional muscle transplant is a lot to go through. What's your real life like?"

"A hell of a lot more social than this one!" Roz started to laugh then got serious. "Since the incident I've pretty much kept to myself."

"I would have thought you would do just the opposite."

Roz sat back and studied Dr. Wilson's face. He didn't know. He thought he knew why Natasha was in her life, but he didn't have a clue. "I withdrew from everything-especially the things I enjoyed doing the most. It's just...I find it hard to trust people. I get overwhelmed easily. Natasha keeps me calm. She keeps me from being afraid."

Wilson stopped eating. "Afraid of what? Afraid to live?"

"I feel exceptionally vulnerable," She hung her head in shame. "Defenseless and even helpless sometimes."

"Do you talk with a therapist about this?"

"Yeah, I can talk to her, but I've never talked about it to anyone else."

"Well, you can always talk to me if you need to." Wilson smiled and grabbed her hand giving it a squeeze of support.

"Thanks," she managed to smile even though she figured she would probably never tell him about the night she was attacked.

"Jimmy and Roslyn sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G," House snuck upon their tender moment. He sat in the chair next to Wilson and stared amusedly at Roz.

"Aw crap, this is your lunch eating friend," Roz said with disgust.  
>"In the flesh," House continued to grin with triumph.<p>

"Eat your sandwich and shut up," Wilson said menacingly.

"I should go," Roz stood up abruptly.

"I'll walk you back." Wilson glared at House.

"You and me need to talk," House demanded.

"Later," Wilson said pointedly.

"You can bet on it." House began picking at his lunch.

But Wilson didn't see him later. In fact, Wilson made himself scarce. Every time House stopped by his office, the door was locked. At four-thirty he gave up and decided to head home. He tucked the latest AMA journal and the Darla Lucas file in his backpack and hobbled to the elevators. He felt like a little kid in a candy shop waiting to taste all the sweet goodness. Lucas had asked him to read the file in private, which he had hoped to do with Wilson.

For being a good boy and withholding the gratification of knowing the answers, House settled in his apartment, ordered Chinese food and ran a hot bath. Once the food arrived, he settled in the tub with his chopsticks, General Tso's Chicken, his reading glasses and the journal. He wanted to finish the article he had started at work before moving on to the 'juicy' stuff.

Finally the time had come to sate his curiosity. Dressed in his lounging pants and a t-shirt, he brought a highball glass and the bottle of Maker's Mark to his night stand. The file lay on the covers begging to be read. He eased himself onto the bed and propped some pillows behind his back. Reading glasses precariously perched on his nose, House opened the file and took out the top sheet. It was the bio from her LinkedIn sight; nothing more than general information about education and ambition. It didn't resonate with him. The resume was just as bland. The next paper was interesting. Roz had completed three semesters of graduate studies. No grade was under 3.8. Her major seemed to be in criminal justice. She had taken master's courses in Deductive Reasoning, Constitutional Law, Advanced Investigative Procedures, Criminalistic Chemistry and Forensic Anthropology. Roz's last semester grades were from the previous spring term and were listed as INCOMPLETE.

"Who doesn't finish their final semester?" House mumbled. It was a bit of a letdown to see such good grades and then nothing. Hopefully Lucas had uncovered the reason.

The next page was a news article:

PRINCETON CAMPUS ON HIGH ALERT

PRINCETON, NJ - Princeton University is in a state of shock today after a night of terror. Local law enforcement officials and campus security conducted a search of the campus and surrounding area after a graduate student was stabbed and sexually assaulted during daylight hours. It is unknown if the assailant is a member of the Princeton University community. The victim, an unnamed female, was taken to Princeton General Hospital.

Princeton law enforcement officials are urging students, faculty and staff to be vigilant when on campus grounds and to report any suspicious behavior...

House poured himself another drink. He remembered reading the article when it had originally been published. Princeton Plainsboro had also been put on alert. People were afraid this might be the beginnings of a serial stalker on the prowl. It was a tense summer as most of the staff was on edge. A summer without incident had returned things to normal.

The last sheet of paper was a copy of a police report. Before House began to read, he realized why Roz would have changed her name. She had been a witness to the crime. Traumatized by what she had seen; she dropped out and assumed a new identity as not to be targeted by the assailant who had yet to be apprehended. He poured himself a congratulatory drink.

House glanced through the report looking for specifics, his eyes settling on Roslyn Santa Lucia's name. He had been right, yet wrong at the same time. Roz had been the first-hand witness.

"Damn," House tossed his reading glasses on the bed and downed his drink.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

House kept himself busy most of the day. The first two hours were spent in the clinic diagnosing the usual stuffy noses and crotch rot. The most interesting case, if you could call it that, was an infected toenail. It never ceased to amaze him how people could wait until gangrene set in before coming to a free clinic.

Wilson stopped in near lunchtime to inquire as to what House needed to speak to him about yesterday. Oddly enough, House was neither hungry nor talkative.

"What's wrong with you? Are you feeling okay?" Wilson took a seat across from the desk.

House looked away from his computer screen. "Just been researching a journal article on a new procedure." He looked at his watch. "Time flies..."

"Okay, you're absorbed in work. That's always a good sign. But why aren't you hungry?"

"I had a few lollipops in the clinic this morning."

"Who's lunch did you steal?"

"You got me. Thirteen makes a mean jambalaya."

Wilson sighed heavily. "It's Foreman that makes the jambalaya."

"Then Thirteen stole it from Foreman; I stole it from Thirteen." House began tossing the large tennis ball up in the air. Wilson just stared at him. "What? It's the circle of theft."

"Yesterday you were intent on telling me a secret, today I have to drag a conversation out of you. There's something going on, and I'm not leaving until you tell me."

House rolled his eyes. "There's nothing to tell. That was yesterday. Today it's old news."

"What are you hiding? Or should I ask: what are you hiding from?"

"Nothing." House hoped the conversation was going to end soon. He wanted to get back to his research. "Who won the betting pool?"

"It got nipped in the bud."  
>"Who told Cuddy?"<p>

"Some idiot in radiology asked Roz what happened."

"Did she blow a gasket?"

"Roz was miffed. She likes to keep her life private. She also thought it wasn't fair to drag your name through the mud."

"Hmm. Can I get back to work now?" He put the ball back on the ashtray.

"Go ahead, throw me out," Wilson headed to the door shaking his head in disbelief. "Just one question: Dinner?"

"I'll call you when I get home."

Wilson nodded and left with a frown on his face. This was definitely out of character for his friend. House had rarely turned down an invite for free food. Something had him distracted. Dinner tonight was going to be a challenge to get him to talk about it.

House remained in his office the rest of the day. His fellows were amazed at his concentration level until Remy surmised he was looking at porn. A couple of times they caught him tossing the ball around or making notes on a legal tablet. He even paced a bit while talking to himself. Unwilling to disturb his activities, the doctors left for the day without speaking to him.

Roz stood in the lobby leaning against the front doors waiting for a security escort to her car. She hated that it was getting darker earlier, a sign that Winter was coming. Thankfully the weather was still mild and the pavement dry. She wouldn't have minded taking the shuttle to her lot, but she had just missed the last one for the evening. Walking wouldn't be so bad, but she usually had Natasha at her side and could manage.

"Waiting for your boyfriend?"

Roz was startled. "Even though I saw your reflection in the glass, you scared the crap out of me."

"Always ready to help you stay regular."

"I'd prefer Metamucil."

House chuckled as he made his way out the doors.

She watched him walk to the parking lot and straddle his motorcycle. A few minutes later he hopped off and made his way back to the entrance.  
>"You still here?"<p>

"Waiting for my escort."

He hobbled toward the elevators and disappeared inside one. Five minutes later he reappeared. "You got stood up, huh?"

"I'm waiting for security to walk me to my car. Ordinarily my service dog would accompany me, but..." She glared at him. "I missed the last shuttle to the parking lot."

House scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I guess I can give you a ride to your car."

"Contrary to your insane beliefs, I do not have a death wish."

"I suppose I could walk you to your car," He offered while popping a couple of Vicodin. "But I'm going to need a ride back to my bike."

"That's okay. I don't think you should be walking that far. If Dr. Cuddy finds out, she'll revoke your paraplegic parking privileges."

"She'll never find out." Roz didn't move. "Come on, it's not that far."

"You're in pain and you want to walk me to my car?"

"My leg is cramping. Walking sometimes helps."

Roz eyed him warily. "I don't want to hear tomorrow that you're in agony and it's my fault."

House opened the door motioning for her to move along. Now was the moment of truth. Her own pain level had been tolerable, but this walk could be the end of both of them. Roz took her first steps in front of Dr. House. She found she could walk almost normally if she stepped slowly and deliberately. House sighed emphatically. Once she had moved beyond him, he stared walking toward her. Before he knew it, he was way ahead.

"Hey, slow poke, I'm the gimp and I'm still faster than you! What are you, part snail?" He gave her a look of exasperated impatience that put butterflies in her stomach.

"Actually, I'm part tortoise." Roz tried to catch up, her limp becoming more apparent.

"They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery." House picked up his pace.

"Sorry, it's the slipstream off your ego that's slowing me down." Roz tried to keep up but it was putting a strain on her brace. The knee joint started to grind.

House stopped dead in his tracks. Roz nearly walked into him. He looked around the ground, up in the trees then started inspecting his cane.

"What are you doing?" Roz had heard he sometimes did strange things, but she thought it only pertained to stuff he did at the hospital.

"I'm trying to identify a sound." He took a few steps.

Roz followed.

He stopped again and took a closer look at his cane. "If this thing breaks and I fall on my face, I'm not going to be happy."

Roz hid her smile by pressing her lips together. The thought of him falling presented an amusing visual, but that wasn't the only funny thing. Her brace had begun to squeak, albeit faintly.

"What's so funny?" House suspected she had sabotaged his cane.

"It's not you. I'm squeaking." Roz felt herself blush.

House looked to her with utter confusion.

"My chastity belt must be getting a little rusty."

House's whole body relaxed as he got a twinkle in his eyes. "You need a lube job."

They both snorted with laughter.

"Come on, it's only a litter farther."

Roz did her best to keep up. Another ten yards and her palms started sweating as her heart began to race. She slowed down just enough to try to distinguish what her ears were registering. She stood still for a few moments. House's hobbling gait continued with a second, even set of footfalls that were barely discernible. House turned and looked at her impatiently. His lips were moving but sound did not register. 

House gimped toward her, his left hand outstretched. "Rozamund. Take my hand and walk with me." Once her hand was in his, he started to tug her forward. "Please don't make me drag you. We're almost home free."

House felt how clammy her hand was. "Take a deep breath and follow my lead."

Roz focused on his voice. He slowed his pace for her to keep even with him.

House could feel her pulse racing. "It's going to be-"

Before he could finish his sentence they were knocked over. There was no time to react as a dark blur went after the doctor.

"You just couldn't leave it alone!"

Roz sat on the sidewalk, stunned, as House took each blow from his attacker. He was almost certain the guy was trying to punch his way through the front of his face and out the back of his skull. House did his best to try to deflect the blows and get his arms up. He was able to push the attacker away, but his damn leg kept him from maneuvering into a better defensive position.

Someone was screaming, and House was pretty sure it was Roz. The assailant had left House only to jump on her.

"I'm gonna finish what I started," he growled.

House tried to right himself, but the world started to spin. He made it to his knees and spat out blood. Feeling around for his cane, he blinked in the directions of the screams hoping to get a fix on her once his vision cleared.

They were struggling. House could hear him grunting; Roz's screams now muffled. He had to stop it before it was too late. Summoning all of his strength, House pushed himself to his feet. Something guttural escaped his throat that matched the fury he felt. He lunged forward, ready to kill if need be.

But his prey was quicker. The assailant turned on House. Roz heard more than saw two animals pouncing. She curled up as much as possible and played dead. Someone was definitely winning the battled of the beasts as one shrieked, then yelped pitifully and repeatedly.

House tried to protect himself from the endless kicking. If he covered his abdomen, he suffered a blow to his head or back. He didn't have a moment for formulate a strike against the madman. He didn't know how much more his body could take.

Something skidded away from the melee towards Roz. It was Dr. House's cell phone. Without hesitation she snatched it up. Her hands shook fiercely as she tried to dial 9-1-1. Her eyes stayed focused on the fight in front of her. Each blow delivered found purchase yet Roz felt like she was watching a movie. It couldn't really be happening. Her trance broke. It was as if muscles she hadn't known existed were clenched, and like an over-stretched rubber band, snapped. Adrenaline coursed through her body giving her the wherewithal to act. She sought the one weapon readily available-House's cane.

Swinging it like a baseball bat, she made contact several times, yet the assailant continued to beat on the doctor. As if she was an irksome fly, he swatted at her then realized he hadn't done what he had come to do. She was still alive.

He was lightning quick and Roz was off balance and off guard. The cane was easily knocked to the ground by his momentum. She hadn't realized he had ridden her to the ground until her head smacked against the pavement while her body was pinned underneath him. His fingers were somewhere around her throat, thumbs digging into her windpipe.

There were sirens wailing in the distance. Roz prayed to God they were heading her way. White lights were popping in her field of vision. A weight lifted from her chest. The light turned to darkness.

Gradually sound came back. Voices. Some close, some tinny. She opened her eyes and the light returned. Everything was moving like an old fashioned slide show. Red and white lights flashed creating elongated shadows. Voices shouted single words with urgency. Then all of the sudden a myriad of sight and sound enveloped Roz, yet she felt nothing but a surreal numbness. Her eyes searched for one person in the chaos.

Too many people blocking her view, blocking him. It didn't matter what was happening to her body, the questions asked, the probing physical touch. She was hardly aware of the ragged gasps for air that tore from her throat. All she wanted was one glimpse of him.

Raised up on a gurney, she had a view that surely would help her locate him. Just a mound of people squatting on the ground. Where was he? She looked back up to the sky. It was getting darker. The lights fading. A prolonged beep emitted against the cacophony until it was the only sound, and then it faded out.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

The ER was bustling as usual, but it was more harried when word got out that there had been an assault on campus. Dr. Allison Cameron was finishing notes in a chart when the first ambulance pulled up and the ER doors whooshed open.

"What have we got?" Cameron rushed towards the gurney while placing her stethoscope in her ears.

"Fifty-year old male, BP ninety over sixty, pulse is thready, breathing labored. Possible pneumothorax. Multiple contusions to the head and torso and arms."

Cameron led them into the first available exam room. The patient was transferred onto a bed by a team of trauma specialists. Each team member had a specific function while Cameron conducted their symphony. She listened to his chest. "I've got no breath sounds on the right. We need a chest tube!" A nurse gathered the required instruments from a cart and rushed them to the bed. Cameron began the process of inserting the chest tube.

While she was doing that, another doctor was assessing the head injuries. IV's were hung, blood drawn, oxygen administered. Once breathing was regulated, Cameron began palpating the patient's chest and abdomen for internal injuries. "I need X-rays and a CT scan. Get a CBC with tox screen, blood gasses and have two units of O negative ready. Hang a bag of Ringers Lactate. Call for neurological and orthopedic consults. Prep an OR and have a surgeon standing by."

Cameron started making notes in the patient's chart as she walked away from the body. Something caught her eye. Anyone could have a scar. Only one person she knew had the missing muscle underneath it. "Somebody call Dr. Cuddy. Tell her Dr. House crashed his motorcycle and is in the ER." She pulled herself away to check on the assault victim that arrived.

"How is she," Cameron inquired after ripping the curtained wall aside.

"This is her second arrest." A doctor applied the defibrillator paddles to her chest and yelled "Clear!" The patient was jolted back into sinus rhythm. "Let's hope this holds."

Cameron knew this one was under control. She hurried back to House's bed but couldn't get near as he was being prepped for the scans. She left nearly crashing into Dr. Cuddy. Cameron swung her around and headed her back towards the door.

"I just got a call from security that my assistant was assaulted." Cuddy was near hysterics.

"Dr. Cuddy, she's being taken care of." Before Cameron could say another word, Cuddy's pager went off.

"Oh, I just got your page. Is she okay? What happened?"

"I didn't page you because of your assistant." She grabbed on to Cuddy's arms as if to shake her out of administrator mode into doctor mode. "One of your patient's is in Exam Room Two."

"Oh, jeeze, what else can go wrong?" Cuddy took a deep breath and strode towards the room, but Cameron stopped her.

"It's House." She gave Cuddy the most serious look she could.

Before either of them could do anything further, a police officer interrupted them. "Where's the guy that was assaulted?"

"It was a girl, and she's in there," Cameron pointed. "But you can't go in yet."

"Look Doc, I'm here about the guy. Fifty-year-old male. Got the snot beat out of him. Sound familiar?"

"House? He was with her?" Cuddy pressed the officer not really having an idea of what happened.

"Either he was with her or he attacked her. I'm betting she didn't inflict that much damage on her own." The cop caught Cuddy's stern look. "Sorry, Ma'am. These folks are the second and third victims tonight. I just heard over the radio that there may be a fourth." Two officers wearing CSI emblazoned on their hats and backs carried black tackle boxes toward them. "These folks are going to take some samples of DNA and infrared photography. It's their job to collect the evidence, so let them do their work."

Cameron was about to argue but Cuddy cut her off by stepping between her and the cop. "They can get what they need, but right now we have to stabilize them." She turned to Cameron. "Work with them. I know House is in good hands. I can't do anything for him right now. I've got to get security on alert and make sure this hospital and its staff are safe."

Wilson stood inside House's apartment holding a bag of takeout. "House?" He looked around for the tell-tale signs that his friend had made it home from work. No helmet, no jacket, no backpack. Wilson checked his watch. He received a call to meet him just before House left work. He should be home by now. Wilson reached for his cell phone and hit a button. It rang twice before the line on the other side picked up. "House?"

"This is Dr. House's phone. Who's calling?"

Wilson was frowning. "Where's Dr. House? Why do you have his phone?"

"Is this James Wilson?"

"I asked YOU who this was." Wilson didn't like this prank one bit. "Put House on the line." House never let that phone out of his sight.

"Dr. House is not available. Is the James Wilson?"

"This isn't funny. Tell House I'm waiting for him." Wilson began to pace. He hung up the phone knowing that House would call back all indignant for being hung-up on.

Within seconds Wilson's phone started ringing. The screen showed it was House's cell phone. "House, enough of this crap. Get home so we can dig in and you can tell me that juicy secret."

"James Wilson?" The disembodied voice was authoritative.

"You know damn well it's me, House. Enough of the jokes. I've waited long enough, I'm starving. Round the corner and let's crack a couple of beers." He was getting impatient. This was so not House-like he was beginning to worry.

"Dr. Wilson this is Detective Taylor of the Princeton Police."

Wilson's frown turned to a smirk. "Let me guess, he's in custody and needs me to bail him out."

Detective Taylor walked away from the ER towards a quieter section of the hospital. "No sir, he's in the Princeton-Painsboro Hospital. I think you should come down here."

Wilson dropped onto the leather couch. "I'll be there in about ten minutes."

It was more like five as Wilson rolled through stop signs and rushed through yellow lights on his way back to the hospital. He thought for sure he was going to get a ticket as red lights followed him to the parking lot. He pulled over and retrieved his ID and driver's license from his wallet.

A police officer shined a light in his face, blinding him momentarily then washed the light over the interior of the car. "What's your business here tonight?"

"I'm Dr. James Wilson. I work here. I know I breezed through a couple of stops signs, but I have a patient in the ER." Wilson tapped on the steering wheel as the officer went back to his car and got on the radio. A few moments later he handed the identification back to Wilson.

"Go straight to the ambulance bay. They're waiting for you."

"What's with all the security," Wilson asked nervously.

"There's been some criminal activity on campus. We're stopping everybody."

Wilson nodded absently. He wondered if there was a full moon tonight. He was sure of it when Cuddy ran out to greet him. "I swear to God, I'm going to take away his keys and sell that damn bike out from under him."

"Come inside. The police want to talk to you in my office." Cuddy escorted him through another security post and through the clinic.

Detective Taylor stood up to greet him. "Dr. Wilson, I'm Detective Taylor." They shook hands briefly. "I'll cut right to the chase. Does Dr. House have any recently made enemies?"

Wilson snorted and turned to Cuddy. "He's kidding, right?"

Cuddy shook her head negatively and guided Wilson to the couch. "Sit down, James. And please, tell them everything, anything that might help us find out who did this."

"No!" Wilson stood up and started to pace. "I'm not saying anything until you tell me what's going on?"

"There have been four assaults between Princeton and Princeton Plainsboro campuses tonight." The detective sat in a chair, inviting Wilson to take a seat. There were no barriers between them at this point. "Please, doctor, sit."

Wilson sat down next to Cuddy, who took his hands in hers.

"The first happened at approximately six fifteen this evening in a parking lot just outside of Princeton General Hospital. The victim is a male, approximately thirty-five years of age. He was shot once in the chest."

"Wait a minute." Wilson pulled his hands out of Cuddy's and held them up to halt the detective's story. "What does any of this have to do with House crashing his motorcycle?"

"Let him talk, James." Cuddy put her hand on his thigh as a gesture of comfort and restraint, if need be.

"Less than twenty minutes later, two people were assaulted on their way to a parking lot outside of Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital. Dr. House and Dr. Cuddy's assistant, Roz Alonza-"

Wilson looked to Cuddy, horrified.

"Both victims succumbed to physical force."

Cuddy grabbed James' hands again. "They're alive and safe."

"The fourth victim was found in a parking lot at Princeton General. This male had been assaulted with a blunt object."

"I want to see him." Wilson jumped up, heading for the door.

"Wilson, come back." Cuddy followed him and led him back to the couch. "You can see him later."

"Dr. Wilson, I need to know if Dr. House said anything strange to you or was acting differently in the past few days." The detective flipped open his notepad and poised his pen, ready to take down the smallest detail.

"I still don't know why you think this is connected to House."

"Does the name Lucas Douglas mean anything to you?"

Cuddy and Wilson looked at each other with surprise.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'. How do you know him?"

Wilson swallowed hard. "Mr. Douglas is a private investigator. Dr. House has used his services in the past."

Cuddy found herself nodding. If the detective really knew why House consulted with Lucas, they'd be opening up a can of worms. It was best not to divulge anything prematurely.

"Had Dr. House currently been using his services?"

"Not that I'm aware of." Wilson shrugged then turned to Cuddy for confirmation.

"Dr. Cuddy, your assistant, did she have a romantic interest in Dr. House?"

Cuddy snorted with laughter. "If I thought she were capable of it, I would say she was the one who assaulted Dr. House."

"So Dr. House antagonized her."

"You could say that," Cuddy replied hesitantly.

"Dr. Wilson?" The detective raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"They were civil to each other."

"Is it possible that Dr. House followed Ms. Alonza with ill intent?"

"What are you getting at?" Wilson stood up, inflamed with the insinuation.

Detective Taylor stood up and met him, eye to eye. "I'm just trying to understand why someone would attack two people at the same time in broad daylight."

"Just get this straight. House didn't attack Roz, and Roz didn't attack House."

The detective backed off. "I'm just trying to establish whether the assailant was tracking Dr. House or Ms. Alonza."

"What's this fourth victim's tie to Dr. House." Cuddy joined the men.

"We haven't discovered that yet."

"What makes you think this isn't a coincidence," Wilson sat on the edge of Cuddy's desk, distracted.

"We're not sure they aren't. They could be random. Dr. Cuddy, may I use your office? I'd like to make a few calls in private. You and Dr. Wilson should get some coffee and try to relax. Check in on the patients and let me know how things are doing."

Cuddy didn't like losing control of her command post or being dismissed so easily, but she did it anyway. There was too much to think about at this moment and her mind was reeling. She grabbed James by the elbow and led him out of the office. In the darkened clinic she stopped, turned to Wilson and smacked him upside the head. He looked at her with shock. "Someone had to do it in House's absence. You know House doesn't believe in coincidence."


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Roz stared up at the ceiling in somewhat of a stupor. Dr. Cuddy had done something. Held off on the sedation. But she just wanted to sleep, to escape the pain. Why wasn't she allowed to sleep? Dr. Cuddy's face appeared before her.

"Roz. Roz, stay awake."

She wanted to roll over and pull the covers up, but it didn't seem possible. Then another face appeared before her. It was the face of a man she did not immediately recognize.

"I don't know what you hope to get out of her at this stage," Cuddy's voice was stern and authoritative.

"The longer we wait to question her, the more time a suspect has to get away," Detective Taylor locked eyes with Cuddy.

Lisa Cuddy was reminded of another detective that worked with the Princeton PD. Thankfully he wasn't assigned to the case. "You may be in charge of apprehending the suspect, but right now I'm in charge of getting her healthy. If I think it's too much for her, then you back off."

Blinking a few times to clear her vision, Roz thought she recognized the male voice. She wanted to tell Dr. Cuddy it was alright, but her mouth was dry and it felt like a log had been shoved down her throat. She reached out to her doctor.

"Try not to talk, you've been intubated."

"Remember me?" Detective Taylor stood over her and smiled.

Roz tried to smile, but even that was difficult.

"Unfortunately, this time we have to play twenty-questions. We have a bit of information based on the 9-1-1 call, I'll just need you to fill in some blanks."

Foreman stood next to House's bed and detached the IV drip that kept him sedated. It went against his gut instinct, but Cuddy warned him the police would be relentless, and, in effect, could get a court order. Even awake, Eric didn't think House would be emotionally or psychologically able to deal with the pain, let alone what he would probably consider to be idiotic questions. He pulled up a chair and waited for House to wake up.

House came to groggy and sure he'd still be in deep slumber if his damn leg wasn't screaming its protest of existence. Greg tried to reach down and massage it before fully waking, but something was preventing him. His right eye popped open. He was a little surprised to find his peripheral vision was limited. Slowly his senses returned.

The room was too bright to be anywhere in his apartment. In fact it looked like a patient room. He tried to turn his head to get a better view. That wasn't such a good idea as nothing happened. His body felt laden, almost as if an elephant was sitting on him. Maybe he was dead, lying on a slab in the morgue about to be autopsied. House wanted to call out for attention, but that was too much effort at this juncture.

The vitals monitor started registering changes in blood pressure and heart rate, setting off alarms. Foreman jumped to his feet, presenting himself in House's field of vision. "Try to stay calm. I'm not allowed to give you anything to knock you out. House's blue eye pierced through Foreman. "You're in the ICU. We've kept you sedated up until now." He pulled out his penlight and checked the patient's pupil response. "Follow my finger with your eye...good.

"You can talk, but your jaw is wired shut, so keep it simple. In about ten minutes a cop is going to come in here to ask you some questions." Foreman felt his boss hesitate in breathing. "I'm going to ask you a few questions first. Do you know your name?"

"Greg House," he mumbled.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital."

"Do you know which hospital?"

"Cuddy's hospital."

Foreman smiled. He hated to have to make House say Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. "She'll be happy to hear that it's still her hospital."

"Keep awake, up morphine."

"Can't do that, gotta keep you coherent."

"Hold breath." House pursed his lips shut but soon puffed them open. "Ow."

Foreman found it hard not to chuckle. "Ultimately you talking to the police is at my discretion."

"Sleep AND morphine." House shut his eye with finality.

"House. House, open your eye." Foreman huffed with frustration. "Fine, you win."

Roz was sitting up in bed when Foreman entered. He shook his head negatively at Cuddy. "Hey, Roz, remember me, Dr. Foreman?" She waved feebly in his direction. I spoke to Dr. Barnes over at Princeton General. He'd like me to perform some neurological tests on your leg to make sure there are no new problems."

"Well, we'll leave you to it," Detective Taylor excused himself and Dr. Cuddy.

Foreman waited until they were gone before he took action. The first thing he noted was that her heart rate and respiration had risen. "I'll be right back. I'm going to ask Dr. Hadley to help me out."

Within minutes Remy Hadley was at Roz's bedside. Foreman checked range of motion, reflexes and tactile responses. "I'm going to send you for an MRI and get an EMG done. Dr. Hadley will run the tests. We'll get the results to Dr. Barnes and then go from there."

Roz reached out for his arm. She motioned writing something. Foreman gave her his pen and the back of his prescription pad. She wrote one word followed by a question mark.

"Dr. House is across the hall. He's stable and sleeping. You rest and don't worry about him."

Remy gave Eric a look that told him he was being insensitive. She turned back to Roz and held her hand, patting the back of it. "Think of Dr. House as the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz. He's had the stuffing knocked out of him before, and we've always been able to put it back in.


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

Days later Roz was extubated. The larygospasms had subsided and some of the swelling in her neck had gone down, but her throat still felt like it had been log-jammed. She was told to keep talking to a minimum, yet it seemed like every fifteen minutes someone was asking her questions. One of the nurses had the bright idea to bring her a pad and pen to communicate. Her first sentence was a demand. 'I want to see Dr. House.'

Each time a person came in the room, she wrote the same thing. And each time she was denied access. Finally she changed it to 'I want to see Dr. Cuddy.' Lo and behold Lisa Cuddy showed up within minutes.

This time she spoke. "I want to see Dr. House."

"House is..." Cuddy looked over her shoulder to the room across the hall.

'PLEASE,' Roz wrote. Her eyes were tear filled.

"Dr. House is sedated. He won't know you're there."

'NEED to see him. With my eyes.'

Cuddy was getting nervous. She didn't want Roz getting upset by not seeing House, but at the same time, she knew she'd be upset if she did see him.

'PLEASE.'

"I don't think-"

Roz pushed herself out of bed.

Cuddy stopped her. "What do you think you're going to accomplish by seeing him?"

"I need to see for myself that he'll be okay." Roz clutched at her throat as a spasm closed her airway. Moments later it eased, but she was still gasping for air.

"Get back in bed before I have to intubate you again." Cuddy helped Roz settle in, placing an oxygen mask over her face. "You can see him after dinner. Five minutes. That's it. You need your rest."

The longer Roz waited for the day to pass, the more restless she became. ICU was the place to be medically doted on, but she felt it unnecessary to be lying around doing nothing. If it weren't for the hourly vitals check, no one would need to see her at all. The laryngospasms decreased as long as she didn't speak much. She had all the time in the world to think about things.

Naturally her mind strayed in one general direction. In the aftermath too much information was missing. Last Spring she had known day-by-day the progress of the police case as well as being active in her recovery. This event was entirely opposite. Roz didn't feel like the police were doing anything, even though intellectually she knew they had to be doing something. And as far as the medical end of things, Dr. Foreman had ordered some tests on behalf of her orthopedist at Princeton General, yet no one had consulted her about the results. She couldn't get any information on Dr. House's condition other than he was continually sleeping. And then she remembered Natasha. It was enough to get her heart pounding. By God, where was the dog and was she being cared for?

Lisa Cuddy sat at her desk filling out the paperwork that would grant temporary privileges to Roz's psychotherapist. Dr. O'Connor had been anxious to continue her patient's sessions, but many circumstances had delayed various decisions. Initially Dr. Barnes and Dr. O'Connor had wanted Roz transferred to Princeton General, but the police didn't think that was such a good idea. After all, their suspect had been at that hospital and may even be someone who frequents there for treatment. At least that was the impression they were giving.

Dr. Barnes had a colleague that knew Eric Foreman. It was suggested that if Dr. Cuddy would be willing, Dr. Foreman could be her surrogate physician regarding the muscle transplantation follow-ups. Barnes knew that PPTH had a capable team of orthopedists and neurologists at their disposal. And if all else failed, Dr. House had a team of fellows who would watch over her like a hawk, if need be.

Cuddy's only obstacle was the therapist. She knew that the longer Roz's treatment was delayed, the greater the possibility she could regress. Changing her doctor at this time would mean slower progress. Securing O'Connor's credentials for Board review became top priority. Especially since Roz seemed fixated on House's condition and not her own. Cuddy recognized deflection having suffered for years under House's mastery of it.

The room had begun to spin. Roz closed her eyes. The spinning didn't stop. It felt like vertigo in a black hole. She held onto the bed covers hoping it would pass. Sounds and images floated past her eyes...

...My chastity belt must be getting rusty...You need a lube job...They were laughing. His laughter reached those intense blue eyes. She felt safe, relaxed, alone in the presence of another man. Only to be shattered. He was on Dr. House, endlessly wailing his fists. And then he pounced on her. He pinned her to the ground with his body. Time seemed to slow. His breath was in her ear as he leaned in. His knee pushed its way between her legs, spreading them. As much as he tried, she tried harder to fight back. His pressure increased, his hips grinding down on her...the other girls were different, he whispered between grunts...I had to take what they wouldn't give...She remembered him licking her neck and squirming under the sensation...I have to make it look the same, but it will be different...He moved off her hips, bringing his hands to her throat...lights were popping in her eyes...he was backing away...letting go...a figure behind him...pulling him off...muffled sounds of a fight...bodies being beat down to the ground...grunts and shouts muffled as she shut her eyes against the horror...and then it started again with her...

Roz cried out as her eyes opened. Tears seeped from the corners. She rationalized why the assailant had given up on Dr. House and why she wasn't allowed to see him. Her mind kept coming to one conclusion: he was dead.

Greg House's mind skirted the brink of dreamland and perceived reality. Images flashed though his head. His father's voice narrating in the background. Words like USELESS and WORTHLESS were accentuated as if John House was addressing a new group of cadets. But the words were aimed at Greg. And now his father shouted his name over and over.

Cuddy looked over to Detective Taylor. "House. House! Come on, it's time to wake up." She brushed her hand against his forehead, then gave his hand a squeeze. "He may not be coherent enough to give you anything."

"I understand, doctor, but this is something I need to determine for the record." His colleague, Tritter, had warned him that the folks at PPTH might be withholding access to Dr. House in order to protect him from himself.

The numbness that enveloped House and held him in a blissful cocoon shielding physical pain slowly ebbed away. As consciousness lapped at him, it brought with it a gnawing ache that seemed to assault various parts of his body before hitting all at once. He whimpered with the pain.

Cuddy shot the detective a fierce look. She programmed the IV morphine pump for a low dose and waiting for a few minutes before rousing him. His fingers spasmed, then his eye opened, blinking a few times. It was as if his brain was taking a systematic check of the organism as a whole before giving the next command.

"House, stay awake!" Cuddy commanded and his brain obeyed even though he didn't want to.

"Dr. House, I need to ask you a few questions."

The voice wasn't recognizable. Slowly he opened his eye trying to focus. "Who," he croaked.

"Taylor, Princeton PD." He flashed his badge out of habit. "I'm investigating the assault."

House closed his eye again. Cuddy was sure he had fallen back to sleep. "Five eleven...husky." There was a long pause where the detective assumed he was asleep, but Cuddy watched his adams apple bob and realized he was taking his time, thinking. "Brown eyes, light brown hair." He grimaced a few times before finishing. "Right handed...ring."

"Excellent!" The detective congratulated him as if he were a schoolboy who just recited the alphabet perfectly. "Just one more question for right now. What was Lucas Douglas doing for you at Princeton General?"

More grimacing from House. Cuddy wasn't sure if it was a reaction to pain or the detective's question. Either way his heart rate and respiration quickened. She too wanted to know the answer, but not with the police hanging over them. If Douglas was working for House, it could incriminate him on something she probably wasn't aware of that most likely was illegal, if not unethical.

"HOUSE!...HOUSE!...HOUSE!" Again his father shouted for his attention. Greg hadn't even realized he had drifted off as he tried to wake himself. There was a blood curdling scream that ripped him back to consciousness.

# # #

Foreman stood over Roz, holding her down as the Atavan kicked in and the nurses put her in restraints.

"What in the hell happened?" Cuddy raced in with Detective Taylor at her heels.

"Not sure," Foreman backed away. "They found her standing on the bed pacing."

"It looked like she was looking for someone or something," a nurse offered. "We tried to coax her down, but it was like we weren't even in the same room with her."

Cuddy gave Foreman a concerned look. "Nightmare? Hallucination?"

"Don't know. We'll hook her up to an EEG and monitor her brain waves."

"Between the two of them..." Cuddy turned to address the detective, but he had slipped out quietly.

###

"Why did you have to interfere?" A disembodied voice boomed in the darkness.

John House marched his son up the stairs, pushed him into the bedroom. Greg turned to face his father, a mix of pride and sadness flowing through him. "Why did you have to interfere?" The door slammed in his face. The click of the lock echoing in the darkness

He lay on the hospital bed feeling the effects of the anesthesia flowing away. But it was all wrong. It was an induced coma for the post operative pain. What had she done? Why would she allow it? She knew it wasn't what he wanted. "Why did you have to interfere," he screamed at her, his voice echoing in his ears.

He was waking again. His head throbbing, his vision blurred. He had a sense of Cuddy sleeping in the chair next to the bed. Her soft breathing and undeniable scent made it all seem okay to face reality again. He was unprepared for what was right in front of him. Wilson stood in the doorway, his face a mask of profound sorrow. Their eyes met. Without saying a word, he heard the one thought of his best friend: why did you have to interfere?

Images of female faces flashed through his head. Stacy. Cuddy. Amber. Roz. The wheel of misfortune clacked as their faces shuffled through his brain. It slowed, the clacking replaced by a chorus of female voices until it landed on Roz. Her lifeless body was splayed on the pavement. Blank eyes stared up at him.

House jolted awake setting off several alarms at the nurse's station. Nurse Bobbie was assigned to his ward for the evening. She reached his bedside, opened the chart and made a few notes, then upped the dosage on his morphine. His hand reached out, touching hers briefly. She realized he was awake, that incredibly blue eye, usually piercing, seemed lost. A streak of tears escaped heading for the pillow. Bobbie dabbed at it with a tissue. She wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. She had only ever wanted to tell him what a arrogant ass he was. Right now it didn't seem to fit.

House found himself dozing again, the fragments of the nightmare threatened to push their way to the foreground. He envisioned them as freaky clown heads randomly popping up and down as if some strange carnival game complete with calliope music. The red and grey ball from his office was in his hand. The object: pitch it at the clown heads before they had a chance to speak. He contemplated the ball and the seemingly endless clown heads.

The carnival faded away, replaced by Cuddy's stilettos echoing on the linoleum floor. "this is your own fault, you know." Suddenly she was in front of him. "Just like with Amber. You set up a chain of events that could only lead to this conclusion. You baited the dog. You left Roz to fend for herself. At least this time you'll have a constant reminder of what you've done."

Cuddy morphed into John House. He stared down coldly at his son. "There are consequences to every action. Failure is not acceptable-ever. I just means you didn't try hard enough. And for that, you get what you deserve."

His father had been right. Because of his arrogance he put Roz in jeopardy. Because of the damned infarction he couldn't defend her successfully. It was just another nail in the coffin. Even when he tried to be selfless, he could barely help himself, ending up looking selfish. He could only ever be the white knight in tarnished armor when getting a differential diagnosis right. He'd never admit that saving the patient was a bonus. He preached that it was always about solving the puzzle and to hell with the patient, but it didn't feel the same if the patient died anyway. He had many years of practice at cool detachment. Hell, he practically wrote the book on the subject.

That's what he'd do. Detach himself from the situation to avoid the shame of being a failed man. Emotional self-castigation would take him down the same path as all of his other ego preservation mechanisms did: loneliness and isolation.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Thirteen poured herself a cup of decaf and sat the conference table with a medical journal. Foreman came in, followed by Taub. "How's Roz," she asked.

"No change. She still wants to see House."

"Huh," Taub eased himself into a chair. "Maybe we should tell her the truth."

"Good idea. Feel free to tell the emotionally unstable that the emotionally unable doesn't want to see her." Foreman was sounding more like House as the days went on.

"You're channeling again," Remy warned.

"I can understand why Roz is shutting down; what I don't understand is House. What does he gain by shutting down and avoiding us?"

"We all know House deals with his issues by not dealing with his issues," Taub reminded them.

"That still doesn't mean he doesn't experience guilt or fear or shame, or any other emotion like a normal human being. He chooses not to express them which results in his unusual behaviors." Thirteen was sounding defensive.

"Right. Isolation is his best defense. I'll go tell Roz House is being self-sufficient and has decided that he doesn't need any non-essential visitors that aren't critical to his care."

Foreman leaned against the counter and stared dumbly at Taub.

"We can't keep telling her he's sedated. She already thinks he's near death."

Remy glared back at Eric. "We have to tell her something."

"Look, this was a second attempt on her life," Foreman confessed.

"You're kidding!" Taub eyed him seriously. "That's some bad luck."

"Luck had nothing to do with it. He's a repeat offender and House was just collateral damage."

"He'll be happy to hear that," Remy snorted.

"I wouldn't put it to him that way...besides the police have a suspect."

Remy and Taub were captivated by the news.

"This doesn't leave this room," Eric warned. "Based on House's information the police think the fourth victim is the attacker."

"How do they know that? Where's the proof?"

"Forensic evidence lifted from House and Roz," Eric shrugged.

"Maybe we should tell both of them the good news."

"It would only be good news if the suspect was in custody."

Dr. O'Connor stopped in after lunch to visit her patient at PPTH. Roz had finally been moved to the psychiatric wing where she could get up and move around. But so far she just lay in bed not saying anything. Since the location change she only wanted two things: House and Natasha. Up until this point the doctor could provide neither.

"Get up, get showered and get dressed," She threw some clothes on the bed.

Roz turned her back to the doctor.

"We're going on a field trip. You can't leave looking like a mess." The psychotherapist sat on the edge of the bed. "Dr. House has been moved to a private room."

Roz turned her head slowly to read the doctor's face. "Really? I can see him?"

"Well, he isn't accepting visitors, but we'll just barge in and see how it goes."

The prospect of seeing House sparked new life into Roz. Finally she was going to have her answer. But did she have the courage to tell him what she needed to say? Pending her chance, she had rehearsed the words so she could say them clearly and with meaning as not to be misinterpreted.

House had been successful at keeping his friends and colleagues at bay. In the ICU ward he became increasingly cranky. Everything irritated him. Lights were too bright. Sound was too loud. Smells too strong. Even his sense of touch was affected causing certain textures to make his skin crawl. Foreman, the only team member whom House would communicate with, was brought in on the consult. After an MRI, a lumbar puncture and a complete blood chemistry panel came back normal, they were stumped. There was no physical explanation for House's hypersensitivity. He didn't even challenge the lack of a diagnosis; just offered to have himself moved out of the ward and into a quieter area.

A couple of times he caught Wilson standing on the other side of the glass staring in at him. He had to keep telling himself it was for the best. He didn't want to hear Wilson tell him how wrong he had been. He didn't need reminding about mistakes or things he couldn't change. House loved Wilson like a brother, but sometimes family could be toxic. His own parents were proof of that.

House was lost in thought when the glass doors slid open. He feigned sleep so he wouldn't have to face questions from the nurse.

Dr. O'Connor entered, pushing Roz in front of her. She watched her patient react, letting Roz come out of her shell on her own terms.

The initial sight of House caused Roz to suck in her breath. He had wires coming off his head and chest, tubes in his arm, and his face was still swollen, sporting some amazing bruises. Roz eased herself out of the wheelchair so she could stand by his side. She was thankful he was sleeping. It meant she didn't need to say anything yet.

Just as Roz was about to hold his hand, House's eye popped open and he managed to scowl. "What do you want?"

She pulled her hand away as if she had just touched a flame. "I don't WANT anything. I just NEED to know you're alive."

"You have your proof, now go away." He closed his eye and ignored her.

Roz was hesitant to leave. "I wanted to-"

"Look," House fixed his piercing one-eyed gaze on her. "I should have never offered to take you to your car."

His words stung her like she had walked into a swarm of bees. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. If it weren't for Dr. O'Connor physically supporting her, Roz would have crumpled to the ground. She managed to find her way back to the chair before the sobs wracked her body.

Dr. O'Connor took one last look at the man in the bed, shaking her head with pity. "This was not what I expected," she cooed to Roz. However, she had succeeded in observing her patient go from flat affect to expressing emotion. Albeit painful, it was a start.

Roz composed herself on the way back to her room. "He blames me," she said, transitioning from the chair to the bed.

"It's more likely he blames himself."

"Then why do I feel guilty?" Roz broke down into tears again.

"How could you have known you would be attacked? You couldn't!"

"That doesn't matter. He believes it to be true."

"Since when is someone else's interpretation of the facts more important than the truth?"

"That's not the issue right now," Roz reached for more tissues. "I wanted to tell him...to let him know how grateful I was that he was there."

"Just as this is not easy for you to deal with, I'm sure Dr. House is having a hard time with it too. Remember, you're not dealing with this alone. Many people have been affected by what has happened to the both of you. They are willing to help you move beyond this event."

Dr. O'Connor stood in the elevator wishing she could have said more encouraging words to her patient, but she didn't want to lead Roz down any particular path. It was more therapeutic to let this patient find her own way, to act as her coach. When the doors opened she headed straight to Dr. House's room. Whether or not he realized it, he was going to be an integral part of Roz's recovery. She would just have to convince him to participate.

"Sorry, the bar's closed."

"Dr. House, if I could just have a few minutes of your time."

"Don't make me call the bouncers."

"Just one questions, then I'll go." She took a few steps closer. After all, what could he really do, call a nurse?

"You're Roz's shrink." He watched her carefully for a reaction.

"Psychotherapist. Liz O'Connor."

"Well, Miss O'Connor-"

"Doctor, actually. PhD. Clinical Psychology."

"Your few minutes are up." House wished he could get away. Just closing his eye was not going to do the trick.

"My question?"

"Ask fast then go away faster," he huffed.

"When you told Roz you shouldn't have offered to escort her to her car, what was you reasoning?"

"Didn't know I needed one."

"You don't. I just didn't want to misinterpret it like Roz did."

House didn't respond.

"I wasn't sure if you meant it was her fault that the assault happened, or your fault for not being able to prevent it." O'Connor and House locked eyes. His registered a mixture of sadness and fear. "That's what I thought." She reached into her purse for a business card. "If you ever want to talk..." she placed it in the chest of drawers next to the bed.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

The door to Roz's room opened softly and a medium sized red and black dog poked her head in, spied her master and pushed herself all of the way in. Her head low, her ears back and her tail wagging furiously, Natasha crept over to the bed and placed a slobbery lick on Roz's cheek.

Roz was dreaming at that moment. She was approached by a faceless stranger who kissed her. She could feel the scruff of facial hair and immediately the face became clear. Roz smiled delightedly. He leaned in to kiss her again. She responded but was jolted awake by a tongue in her mouth.

"Aahhh!" Roz sat up pushing away at her dream figment. "Natasha?" The next moment she was happily hugging the dog as Natasha leaped into her lap.

Roz looked over to the dog handler. "Thank you for taking care of her."

"She missed you."

"Not as much as I missed her."

"She's been fed, watered and pottied." The handler put a small bag of food next to the door before disappearing.

Roz lay back down and let the dog nestle next to her. "I've been so scared," she whispered into the dog's fur.

Cuddy found Wilson in the cafeteria leisurely eating his lunch while doing a crossword puzzle.

"What's a five letter word for a variety of lotto or bingo played as a gambling game. British in origin." Wilson barely looked up at her.

"Not a clue," she said while sitting.

"Help yourself," he waved his hand towards his food.

"No thank you." Cuddy smiled realizing Wilson really didn't mind when House 'stole' his food.

"Smart. Stay away from the fries. It's been a week and I've gained five pounds."

"That's what usually happens when you eat twice as much."

Wilson sat back and looked at his boss long and hard. "You want to talk to me about House?"

"He's still being stubborn." Cuddy frowned. She missed House's weird brand of friendship. Their verbal sparring increased her energy and focus. The few words he had shared with her in the past days were limited to his medical needs and spoken without emotion.

"I've never seen him so withdrawn and un-abrasive," Wilson sighed. "I've been there to pick up the pieces so many times before...its second nature."

Cuddy placed her hands on his. "Give him more time." Her eyes pleaded with Wilson's.

"I miss him," Wilson confessed. "Most days he's the bane of my existence...but I miss him none-the-less."

Cuddy smiled encouragingly. "I have a feeling he'll be back to his old self before long."

"Are you slipping him happy pills? Because that wouldn't bring him back to his old self; he needs his misery, or so he thinks."

"No. Should I?" Cuddy feigned concern.

Wilson knit his brow. "Well..."

"I've got something better. Roz's psychotherapist plans to include House as part of her treatment," Cuddy snorted back a laugh.

"What did you tell her?"

"'Good luck!'"

They both laughed heartily.

"You did warn her that he would resist."

"What can he do? Get up and walk away? Maybe he'll get something good out of it."

"Or it might entice him to embrace his cynical and snide side," Wilson hoped.

Cuddy became silent.

"What?" Wilson picked up on her change of thought.

"What are we going to do with him once he's discharged?"

"How much are babysitters making these days?"

House's door opened and Dr. O'Connor entered with Roz. "Oh! Not again!" His mumbled voice projected a mix of anger and sarcasm, yet secretly a spark ignited inside him, waking his desire to make contact.

"Since I have a captive audience-"

"I can roll away," Roz reminded her.

"Gee, thanks, leave me stranded," House grumbled.

Again Roz took his remark to heart. She drew in a shaky breath as the tears began to flow.

"Hurray, we're off to a great start," Dr. O'Connor warned as she closed the blinds to the room. She returned close to Roz and handed her a box of tissues. "Okay, I've got some ground rules for this session. No biting, scratching or hair pulling. Keep shouting down to a reasonable decibel and participation is a requirement."

"You've been a ringmaster at mud fights, haven't you?" House was imagining a nice little fantasy with the cute doctor and some scantily clad babes covered in mud.

"How do you think I worked my way through grad school? And by the way, I was a wrestler, not a ref."

House broke out into a huge lecherous grin, paining himself severly.

"So it's clear there are some issues that need to be resolved in both of your lives." She noted House was now scowling. "I'm just interested in the ones brought on by the shared incident."

"I'd rather forget it," House countered.

"By pretending it didn't happen?"

O'Connor and House were surprised that Roz had spoken up so forcefully. Both knew there was more to come.

"You forget I've been there before." She was speaking directly to House, practically spitting the words at him. "The time you spend in denial is wasted. Better to be pissed off and spiteful than wallowing in self-pity."

"Is that what you're doing now? Being angry. Do you really feel malice?"

Roz hung her head shamefully. "No. That's how HE should feel."

"Whoa, wait a minute, I'm still in den-" House pressed his lips together. "Leave me out of this."

"Roz, it's natural to be angry over what happened. When things get out of our control, we tend to react in a way to grab back ownership."

"I'm not angry," Roz said through gritted teeth.

"Neither am I," House mimicked her.

"Great. Moving it along. I'll tell you what I'm getting from both of you." Dr. O'Connor stared at her notes for a few minutes.

"Roz, you're basically telling Dr. House how he should feel based on your past experiences with a similar situation. It tells me you're disassociating your feelings because you don't want to deal with them yourself. If you can pull from the tools you used last time to cope with the emotions that keep popping up, you'll work through this the same way."

"But it's not the same. This time it was my fault," her voice was barely a whisper.

House's snort of derision backfired causing a coughing spell. That led to a whole chain reaction of events that had a nurse running into his room to check on him.

"I'm...okay," he tried to clear his throat. "Just...post nasal...drip." When everything returned to normal, he stared at Roz until the nurse left. "You're an idiot."

"You're going to blame me for choking, too?" Roz's anger was rising again.

House gave the therapist an incredulous look. "Is she serious?" He received an almost imperceptible nod. "Wow, your perceptions are messed up!"

"Just say it!"

"Just say what?" House wanted to bait her, wanted to squash her anger, but he followed the therapist's lead by not leading.

"Just tell me it's my fault. I can't move forward until I hear it...out of YOUR mouth."

House's blue eye pierced O'Connor's for a clue.

"Dr. House, do you believe Roz is at fault for the assault?"

"Don't know," he answered matter-of-factly.

It was O'Connor's turn to be surprised. She never thought House would turn against Roz in her frail state.

"Roz, did you set up the attack?"

"No!" She was confused that he would even think to ask that question.

"Did you do anything to provoke the maniac?"

"No." She was desperate to know why he was asking such stupid questions.

"Then how can it be your fault?" House hoped she'd catch on to his simple logic. "Think about stuff you've learned in your field of study. Victimology. Psychology. Use what you know and apply it to yourself."

"You don't blame me?" Roz's body relaxed with the prospect.

"No, I blame myse-" _DAMN_, he thought. This little gathering coupled with the coughing fit had wiped him out. He was losing his ability to sensor himself.

"Follow your own logic, doctor." Liz O'Connor packed up her belongings and headed for the door with her patient.

"Wait. I want to talk with Roz for a few minutes...alone."

O'Connor nodded and left.

"How come you're not up and walking?" House looked her over. "You've got to keep working the muscle or you're in for a world of hurt."

"I don't see you moving around too much either." Roz still felt guilty about his injuries, but not as much as before.

"I have a crappy doctor. Don't worry about me. Take care of yourself first."


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Remy Hadley stepped off the elevator and proceeded toward the locked double doors of the psychiatric floor. Within moments she was buzzed in and proceeded to the nurses' station to signed in. "I'd like to sign out Roz Alonza for an hour."

Dr. Hadley knocked before entering Roz's room. "Hey, mind if I come in?"

Roz put down the book she was reading.

"I thought you might like to go out and get some air and give Natasha a little exercise." Roz's hesitance was palpable. "Come on, it'll be fun. Dr. Foreman and Dr. Wilson are already waiting for us."

# # #

Dr. Cuddy entered House's room quietly. He appeared to be sleeping, but she knew better than to assume he was. Cuddy checked his chart then made some notes of her own.

"Do you have to write so loud?" House opened one eye as if just awakening with the intent on going back to sleep.

"I heard you had a rough patch earlier. How's the pain level?"

"I must be feeling better; my leg hurts."

"When did the pain start?" Cuddy flipped through the chart for any recent mention of increased leg pain.

"I had this thing called an infarction a few years back. You may remember it," House sighed heavily.

"Any worse than usual?"

"It's been building up over the last few days. It feels like if I don't flex the joints above and below, my femur's going to dislocate at both ends."

Cuddy was frowning as she continued to make notes in the chart. She wasn't happy to learn his leg pain began when she changed his pain medication to something non-opioid. She hadn't told him, so it wasn't a coincidence. "I'll adjust your medication and we'll get you started with some PT for the spasms."

"Make sure you put me back on opioids while you're at it."

"What makes you think you're not?"

"Whatever you're giving me is affecting my mind. I don't feel like myself."

"Did you ever think this had less to do with the decrease in amount of Vicodin you're used to and more to do with how you're coping with the psychological stress of the situation?"

# # #

Roz sat at a picnic table by the lake with Remy, Foreman and Wilson while her dog explored their surroundings. It felt nice to be outside and surrounded by people she trusted, yet it was hard to show any emotion. She could feel the frown on her face. There was no desire to interact or participate with these people.

It was killing Wilson to see Roz this way; mainly for two reasons: she had quite the sense of humor, and he wanted to question her about House but didn't dare push it. He was almost relieved when Roz spoke out first.

"You're not hiding a sandwich in your pants, are you?"

Wilson grinned ear to ear. "I was hoping your sense of humor hadn't left you."

"You were staring at me as if I've grown another head. Had to stop it somehow." Roz's voice held no mirth.

"I'm sorry," Wilson stopped smiling.

"I appreciate the gesture to get me out here, but what is it you really want?"

Wilson looked away while Foreman began inspecting his hands. After a few moments Remy spoke up. "Just a little information."

"Read the police report; it's public knowledge." Roz's voice was filled with bitterness. She hated the way she felt and the way she was responding, but it was as if her brain had stopped processing things with feeling. Apathetic. Worse than pathetic. She wanted to feel something, anything other than this nothingness.

"We're very concerned about Dr. House. And since you're the only one who's talked to him..."

"You guys are soft," Roz could actually feel the corners of her mouth trying to curve upward. "He has no choice but to put up with my presence. He can't get away."

"He's less likely to make your life a living hell than he is ours," Foreman pointed out.

"Only because they work directly for him. It's part of his M.O. to make them miserable," Wilson offered

"Thank god I don't work for him then."

"We all know that House is an ass on the outside, but when he's by himself or truly being himself, there's a human being trying to get through the day as best he can; like the rest of us."

"We're just worried he's changed."

"It's more than that," Foreman began. "House is still the toughest jerk in the room. He's pissed off nearly everybody at one time or another. Having the shit kicked out of you tends to put things in a new light. People could see it as he finally got what he deserves. Or karma's come to bite him in the ass. Either way, I'm sure his ego's taken a big hit."

"That would explain a lot," Roz mumbled.

"How so," Wilson leaned closer to her.

"His pride is wounded."

"If he keeps socially isolating himself as he's doing know, he'll go back to not seeing patients." Foreman rubbed his chin absently.

"We need to engage him in a case. Make him feel needed." Wilson was excited.

"So we just stroke his ego? It can't be that easy." Remy refused to believe it.

"It won't be. But maybe I can strong-arm him into thinking he's needed." A little spark of hope burned in Roz's heart. If she couldn't make Dr. House forgive her, she could at least try to help him get his 'groove' back.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

The glass doors to House's room slid open and Dr. O'Connor stepped in. "You wanted to see me?" House was sitting up. The bruises on his face were diminishing along with much of the swelling. "You're looking much better today; feeling good, too?"

"I live," he mumbled.

"So what can I do for you?" Liz dropped her briefcase and purse next to a chair and made herself comfortable.

"For me, nothing. Roz, on the other hand..."

"What about her?" Dr. O'Connor was curious to hear what House had to say. She leaned closer to him.

"She needs to get back on a schedule of physio. It probably wouldn't hurt if she got back to work as soon as possible, either."

"I knew you were concerned about her! Why don't you tell her what you told me?" O'Connor couldn't help but smile.

"I already did tell her. I had hoped that by telling you, I'd get you both to stop bothering me."

Liz was still smiling.

"Why are you amused by this?"

"For the most part, I like your honesty." Dr. O'Connor used air quotes around 'honesty'.

"Not honest, me?"

"Everybody trips up and lets out honest moments. We all have "on stage behavior" that we show the world. It's the stuff we let slip when we're most comfortable or uncomfortable with ourselves. That's honesty."

"If I say 'okay', will you leave me alone?"

"No such luck. Liz purposefully twiddled her thumbs and looked around the room.

"What do I have to do to get rid of you?"

"Tell me what you need - to move on, that is. If physio and work are your prescription for Roz, what's the treatment for yourself?"

"Vicodin...lots of Vicodin."

Liz snorted back laughter. "Trying to build yourself a nice cocoon of numbness?"

"It's better than the crappy way I feel now."

"Maybe you should look outside for some moral support."

"It's obvious you haven't heard..."

"What? That you have no morals?"

"Something like that."

"You don't seem to have visitors. Are you going to tell me you don't have any friends, either?"

"I don't have the usual kinds of 'friends', it's more like 'enablers'."

"Do you want friends?"

"I wouldn't mind people who accept me for who I am without trying to change me."

"Unconditional friendship-"

"Doesn't exist."

"Maybe you haven't met the right people. Or maybe it doesn't exist because you can't be unconditional with others."

House thought about it. Was he unconditional with others? The word 'elitist' came to mind. He didn't regularly associate with anyone beneath his intelligence level. (Oh god, that was similar to something akin to what he said at his father's funeral). His poker buddies were associated by their professions: dry cleaner, mail man, etc. He had associates, team members and acquaintances; but only two friends: Wilson and Cuddy. What was the real reason he hadn't come across more people he could consider friends? Were they not worthy? If Wilson hadn't been interesting at that medical conference so many years ago, would they even know each other now? If Cuddy hadn't been hot for him at Michigan...

Dr. O'Connor let him stew a bit. When it seemed like he had come to an impasse, she proceeded. "How many friends did you have as a kid?"

"I was a military brat. My dad traveled a lot. Just when we'd get settled in at one base and I'd meet someone interesting, he'd get new orders."

"I bet after a while you started giving up on forging friendships."

"It was pretty much like that with all relationships."

"No matter how unfulfilling your relationships were in the past, you're not in the same position now."

"And yet I still don't have friends."

"Why is that?"

"My Aunt Sarah once said that if you show people the real you right up front, those worthy enough to be friends will stick around."

"Is that why you behave in the worst manner, so you can tell right away what the conditions of the relationship will be?"

"Who'd put up with me? Why would they subject themselves to it? There have been few and far between."

"Any relationship is about give and take."

"I'm not good at the giving part. I really don't know how."

Liz sat back in her chair, thinking. There was a lot to this man. She could tick off in her mind the psychosocial stages of development that resolved through negative core pathologies. Dr. House seemed to have spent his formative years stunted by his father's career. His trust issues ran even deeper. She wondered if his mother neglected him as well.

"If you're going to psychoanalyze me, don't keep it to yourself. I want to be able to scoff at you and mock your theories."

Liz exhaled heavily. "Not really analyzing you all that much."

"Then what?"

"Just thinking that you shouldn't want to trap yourself internally. A nice numbness sounds pleasant, but soon enough all the bad thoughts break through the peace and become torturous. You have to express what you're feeling, physically and emotionally."

"So what? You want me to cry?"

"I take it you used to be active...before." She motioned towards his leg.

House nodded.

"Swimming might help. Screaming works for me."

"Are you implying that I'm limiting myself?"

"I'm saying that you need to think on a whole other level, way beyond the box. Don't dwell on what you can no longer do. Find new things to do. If you don't like one thing, move on to something else."

"I'm too impatient."

"No kidding."

"And now I'm frustrated."

"Sorry about that. I guess there's nothing the whole wide world you can do about it." She made her sarcasm blatant.

"I guess not."

Liz gathered up her gear. "Maybe you should work on that friend thing."

"Easier said than done."

"Start slowly; build up your tolerance for others."

"I'll get right on that."

Liz headed for the door, turning back before exiting. "You might think of starting with Roz. You two seem to have respect for each other. You're kindred spirits...Maybe you should let a friendship blossom."


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Cuddy waited until her luncheon meeting was over before checking in on House. He seemed...different, to say the least. There was a calmer feeling in the room, as if his icy attitude had warmed a few degrees. The lack of tension emanating from him caused Lisa to relax as she approached.

She was actually smiling when she reached for his chart. He was dozing and stirred as she reviewed notes. House didn't wake, which meant he wasn't _en garde_. Lisa jotted down a few thoughts.

House opened his eyes and observed her. She was the same gorgeous angel he crushed on at Michigan, albeit a little more mature.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Do I have to have a reason?" He pretended to be hurt by her insinuation.

"Because it's you, yes." Cuddy couldn't help but smile back at him. "You look...more rested."

"Less pain makes it easier to sleep."

"Good."

House just nodded in agreement.

"Anything else you want to tell me?" Cuddy closed the chart and turned toward the exit, not expecting a reply.

"Let Wilson know that if he has free time, I'd like to see him."

Foreman signed off on Roz's discharge papers and the left the Nurses' Station without even seeing the patient. He was a bit resentful of Dr. Barnes for being dismissed as an adjunct lackey to the Princeton General staff instead of the competent neurologist he was. Eric's suggestions for additional treatment and therapies for Roz weren't even addressed by Barnes or his band of elitists.

As for Roz, he didn't feel the need to overshadow her release. She had seemed pretty cool towards him since their little luncheon to get info on House. Foreman handed the paperwork back to the Discharge Nurse and headed back to the office.

Dr. Remy Hadley stepped out of the elevator as Dr. Foreman approached. "Everything all set?"

"She's as free as a bird."

"Did she seem nervous?"

"Why would she?" Foreman sidestepped her and entered the elevator.

Remy followed him in. "Oh, I don't know. Somebody tried to kill her-twice, and you've just released her back into the wild."

Eric poked at the elevator button. "I hadn't thought about that." He noted Remy's reaction. "What? I figure she's working through those issues with her therapist."

Remy thrust her arm between the closing doors. "Sometimes your insensitivity astounds me," she said pushing her way back onto the floor.

"You wanted to see me," Wilson said with concern as he popped into Cuddy's office.

"Have a seat."

"What's up?" Wilson eased himself into a chair across from her, prepared to jump up with indignation if need be.

"Someone asked to see you; if you have some free time."

Wilson wasn't sure how to feel about House's re-found acceptance of him. A little part of him wanted to let House wait a day or so; but an even bigger part wanted to run into House's room and share a celebratory drink with him."

"Wow!" Cuddy smiled coyly. "That was amazing."

"What was?"

"I've never seen that many emotions cross a single face in under five seconds. It almost looked like you were having a stroke."

"Great, I'm an open book."

"There's nothing wrong with that." Cuddy sat back in her chair and relaxed.

"This must mean House is feeling much better." Wilson became more agitated.

"He is."

Then he's going to want to be released soon."

"He will be."

"Which means he's going to ask to stay with me."

"Probably." Cuddy was having fun watching Wilson squirm. Her non-committal answers were making it worse, and she knew it.

"So what do I do?" He was positively antsy. "I don't have time to nurse him back to health; nor do I want to lose my sanity."

"First of all, relax. He hasn't asked you anything. He just wants you to know he's willing to let you in the room."

"House never does anything without motive." Wilson got up to leave, unsure if he was heading for his office or House's room.

"Instead of worrying about why he wants to see you, you might want to focus on why he kept you out," Cuddy called after him.

Remy sat on the edge of Roz's bed as the Discharge Nurse went through the paperwork and had her sign the appropriate forms.

"As soon as we can track down an orderly and a wheelchair, we'll get you out of here."

The nurse left and Remy broke out in a wide grin. "You do realize you'll be waiting at least another half hour."

"Yeah," Roz sighed, absently petting Natasha.

"Are you excited?"

"I'm a lot of things. Happy to be getting out of here and back to a routine-although Dr. Cuddy won't let me come back to work just yet."

"Take a little time to get back on track. I'm sure you're going to want to get rested before you come back to the work piling up on the desk."

"So Dr. Cuddy didn't replace me?"

"She tried bringing in a temp. Then another." Remy started laughing. "And another."

"I thought Dr. House usually scared them away."

"It seems Dr. Cuddy is very demanding."

Roz scowled at her.

"That and the fact that someone was spreading some vicious rumors that if any of the candidates showed potential..."

"Thanks...I think."

"Don't worry; you'll still have a job when you're cleared to come back."

"I hope that clearance comes soon. I hate sitting around doing nothing."

"It'll be a good time to catch up on your favorite TV shows and books."

The door opened and an orderly arrived to take her down.

"You going to be okay alone?" Remy finally addressed the reason she had lingered.

"Yeah. And I've got 9-1-1 on speed dial." She immediately forgave the doctor for worrying about her. "I'm a lot tougher than I look."

Wilson crept into House's room. From the looks of it, his friend was sleeping. He didn't want to wake him, but a check of his watch allowed Wilson about twenty minutes to sit by his side and see if House awoke. He felt it was important to be there. If he didn't get a chance to talk to his friend, then he would leave him a note.

House didn't make him wait long. He waited for Wilson to get comfortable in the chair next this bed before opening his eyes. "Thanks for coming."

"Cuddy said you asked to see me," Wilson was hesitant.

"Yeah."

Neither one said anything for a few moments.

"Why did you shut everyone out?" There was no sense in beating around the bush with House. He could play that game better than anyone.

"I'd rather not answer that right now. Suppose we just skate around it with 'Hi, how ya doin's'."

"If that's what you need right now, fine. You look better. Green and purple suit you more than black and blue."

"And your tie is ugly."

"Can we dispense with the pleasantries now?"

"I feel better, all things considered. What have you been up to while I've been convalescing-I mean other than that hobby of yours: getting married and divorced."

"Well...let's see. I've been busy baby-sitting your team, worrying about my friend's state-of-mind, eating a full lunch-"

"Oh good, I thought it was just me."

"What?"

"You look like you've put on a few pounds."

"You're still an ass."

"I know. But mine's not as big as yours."

"Why did you push me away?" Wilson used his most pleadingly serious tone.

House sighed and chose his words carefully. "I've relied a lot on you in the past."

"That's what friends do." Wilson was quick to respond.

"Nah. Friends give and take...at least I think a reliable source told me that. And another reliable source tells me often that I take and take and take. I think he referred to me as the 'universal receiver'."

Wilson stayed quiet. House rarely spilled his thoughts so casually or freely.

"What I'm trying to say is: through the years I've dished out more crap at you than you probably deserved. What I really need to know is why you put up with it...with me."

Wilson didn't know what to say. "I can't answer that. At least I don't readily have a response."

"Don't you at least think about it? I've purposely done things to aggravate the hell out of you and you just take it. You've never asked yourself why?"

Wilson frowned and shrugged.

"You're more screwed up that I thought I was."

"Was pushing me, your team...Cuddy away more of the crap you were dishing out? Did you want some grand reaction or our worlds to stop turning if you weren't at the center?"

"You give me too much power."

"Then what? What made you do it?"

House was frowning now. He didn't answer right away. It wasn't an easy question to answer.

"I'm waiting."

"I didn't think. I screwed up with Roz. Then I tried to set things right and I screwed it up again."

House, usually logical no matter how demented his thought processes, was not making sense to Wilson. "I don't get it."

"Maybe I didn't deserve your friendship-or anyone else's, for that time. Maybe I still don't."

Wilson looked at him quizzically. "Are you telling me the 'Great Atheist' is feeling a little karmic?"

"It's not what I'm feeling. It's what other people are believing."

James was chuckling now. "Since when have you ever cared about what other people thought or said about you?"

"Look at my life, Wilson. Are you envious? Would you want to be me?"

James cleared his throat, instantly becoming somber. He made a grand gesture of looking at his watch. "I've got an appointment in a few minutes."

"By all means, go. No breast should go unchecked due to my pithy ruminations." House sighed heavily, closing his eyes.

Wilson did not offer a retort or any other parlance. He got up and left making a mental note to have Foreman run a cognitive function exam on House.


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It was a busy day for House. Most of the tubes and wires were removed-including the feeding tube, much to his delight. He had finally graduated to liquids even though he was craving a steak.

Wilson stopped back in before leaving for the day. He had his assistant research home care nursing agencies, housekeeping services and meal deliveries. James followed up by choosing what appeared to be the best options to present to his friend. So it was with these dossiers and a large chocolate milkshake that he entered House's room.

"My father always warned me to beware of geeks bearing gifts."

"I doubt this is the Trojan milkshake." Wilson sat down and got right to business. "I've amassed some qualified companies for you to consider."

"Let me guess: Hospice, Meals on Wheels and Merry Maids."

Wilson arched his eyebrows precariously. "They know you so well they were jumping for the chance to be of service."

House relished the texture of the milkshake against his tongue. After a few moments, his eyes brightened and a wide grin split his lips. "I know this guy who makes alcoholic ice cream. We'll need to make sure he's on speed dial."

"Great, that's one need met; only a few minor ones to go."

"Go ahead and call the agencies you picked. Set up some face-to-faces for tomorrow after lunch."

"Are you even going to look at the files?"

"Nah, I trust you."

"You want me to ask for anything specific?"

House thought about it for a few moments while nursing the shake. "Yeah, they have to be female."

Wilson got up to go. "I figured as much. Anything else?"

"See if we can get away with working in a swimsuit. Preferably a bikini; but I will settle for a tankini."

"See you later, House," Wilson snorted. "Good to see you're getting back to your old self."

Roz had dozed in front of the TV for most of the afternoon. When the six o'clock news theme woke her up, she was a little more than apprehensive. The sun had set before she took Natasha out for her second to last walk. Roz wanted to get the long walk over during the daylight hours. Her heart started racing as she attached the dog's leash to her harness. Natasha looked up at her master eagerly. "Feel free to maim anybody who gets too close," she told her canine companion.

Her heart hammered against her chest as Roz stepped on to the stoop. Natasha seemed to recognize her nervousness and leaped up to plant a kiss on her face, tail wagging furiously. Immediately Roz's anxiety began to subside.

Natasha was quick to do her business, as if she understood her master's wishes; yet Roz felt guilty cutting the walk short. Natasha hadn't been getting proper exercise.

"I'll make you a deal," she said, hugging the dog. "We'll cut this walk short and I'll throw a ball for you inside."

The dog followed her willingly up the stairs and into the apartment.

House had just fallen into REM sleep when he was nudged awake by the nursing assistant taking his vitals. He pulled the thermometer out of his mouth and growled. She continued to take his blood pressure when he grabbed her stethoscope and yelled: "I'm not a balloon. Stop pumping air into the damned cuff!"

The woman jumped back, scrambling to get the stethoscope from her ears. "What the hell?"

"Stop interrupting my sleep. You are NOT the girl of my dreams."

"Next time I'll just roll you over and shove-"

"You touch me, and I'll bite."

"Now I know why they say let sleeping dogs lie. Relax and shut up so I can get a decent reading. You screw it up for me, and I'll pump this cuff up to 250."

House growled at her again. "I am so glad I will be gone tomorrow."

"Trust me, so is the nursing staff."

Roz lay propped up in her bed against a stack of pillows reading. Natasha was curled at her feet. She had picked the most boring book she could find, hoping it would lull her to sleep. It was boring. She had read the same page over and over, not absorbing any of the written words. Each time Roz thought she might doze off a sound would bring her back to attention. At first it was the heater kicking on. It took her a few moments to realize what it was. Natasha hadn't stirred, so she chastised herself about being so paranoid.

When it happened a second time, she lay still, trying to identify if the click was the heater. She held her breath to listen for other sounds. All she heard was Natasha snoring.

She started reading again. It was Natasha that alerted her by a deep growl. Roz had to touch the dog's chest to make sure it was coming from her. "What is it girl," she whispered. Natasha's eyes rolled opened and her ears perked up. Roz heard it too. Footsteps.

Panic rose in her chest. Inside? Outside of the apartment? Outside. Had to be outside. Otherwise the dog would be in attack mode.

Somewhere in the building a door was closed. Natasha laid her head back down and fell back to sleep. Roz was not so lucky.


	19. Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Be good," Wilson chastised his friend as he saw the first candidate approach the doors.

"In what sense?" House tried to smirk, but grimaced in pain.

"What's wrong?" Wilson's face showed concern.

"I'm sober...that way you can't blame my behavior on the medication."

Wilson sighed heavily. "Great, just great."

"Relax. Sit back and watch me have fun."

The first nursing candidate was waved in by Wilson. House paid particular attention to the way she moved. He liked her-so far.

"Egads, what happened to you?" She was a little nervous, not expecting her potential employer to look like some kind of mutant hybrid with a purple swollen face.

"Got a little drunk and decided to do some table dancing." House glanced at Wilson with desperation.

"Dr. House is going to need some assistance with daily activities: bathing, dressing, getting around his apartment and the like."

"Oh." She paled and her eyes sort of glazed over.

"Oh?" House and Wilson echoed her.

She looked everywhere but in House's direction.

"Is there a problem?"

She addressed Wilson. "It's just...well, I'm a little freaked out." She motioned him out towards the hall with a head gesture.

James shrugged at House and followed her.

"I'm sorry Dr. Wilson, but I'm withdrawing my application."

"But he didn't even say anything derogatory."

"It's not Mr. House. It's me. I'm having a hard time looking at his face; and, well, frankly, I'm embarrassed to say...I'm embarrassed to be around naked men."

James took a stunned step backwards. "You've been in nursing how long? And you've managed not to see a naked male?"

"I guess I should say I'm embarrassed by a conscious naked male body."

He just stared at her with bewilderment.

"I've been working the coma and PVS units."

"Okay, then," Wilson shrugged, unsure if he should say what really wanted to escape his throat. He left her standing there as he returned to House's bedside.

"One down, three to go," he hoped he sounded enthusiastic.

"Hmm."

"The next interviewee should be better. It's for the housekeeping position."

"Tell me why I just got a mental picture of Mabel in my head."

"Me too," Wilson grinned sheepishly.

"I bet your Mabel wasn't a fat, old broad in a skimpy French maid's costume."

James shuddered. "That is SO wrong on so many levels."

"You know what scares me."

"Besides Mabel hanging out all over?"

"That AND the fact that I might not find anyone to meet my needs."

Wilson snorted back laughter. "I know what you mean, but sometimes the way that you phrase things is oddly..."

"Vague?"

"I was thinking more of a double entendre."

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"If I can keep you in a good mood, then I can better your chances of finding someone NOT like your Mabel."

They were silent a few seconds until Wilson remembered something.

"I forgot to tell you. I checked with a few meal delivery services. And, well, they're not exactly soft food friendly."

"No gourmet mush?"

"Maybe we can find a housekeeper with exquisite blender skills."

"How about Meals Run Over by Wheels?"

They were interrupted by a matronly woman who entered the room.

"Hi, the Agency sent me over." She extended her hand to Wilson, who shook it; then to House, but awkwardly retracted it seeing he was not up to it, broken arm and all. "I'm Mabel."

House began choking as he tried to prevent an unanticipated guffaw.

Mabel stepped back as Wilson jumped to his aid. House's coughing became paroxysmal. James hit the call button for the Nurses' Station. "I need some help in here!"

By the time the hullabaloo was over, House was too worn out to care about anything. Mabel had been in the hall waiting out the ordeal.

"Maybe we should finish this interview in my office."

She stopped him from leading the way. "Is he contagious?"

"Who, House? No."

"Good. I don't want what he's got."

Wilson smiled to himself thinking he wouldn't want it either.

While House rested Wilson saw the rest of the applicants. After seeing two more nurse's aides and another housekeeper, he was glad his friend had not participated in the process. If Mabel sent him into a coughing fit, the others would surely have caused him a stroke or heart attack.

Before the end of the day, Wilson returned to House's room.

"Did you get some rest?"

"A bit." Although he felt like a train had run him over, House couldn't keep his curiosity at bay. "So do I have the help I need?"

Wilson dropped into the bedside seat and propped his feet up on the bed. He folded his hands across his chest and sighed deeply.

"That good, huh?"

"Let's just say I'm amazed by the amount of unqualified people there are out there."

"How qualified do you have to be to wash dishes, dust and push a vacuum cleaner?"

"Evidently you need to NOT be allergic to dust."

"Really? A housekeeper that's allergic to dust. Surprising."

James smirked. "There was one really hot babe who was willing to clean in a bikini."

"Shut up!"

"There were some small problems."

"I'm sure we could overlook them."

"Probably not."

"Stop taunting me."

"She didn't do windows."

"That's okay, I don't like looking out my windows. Don't like people looking in either."

"Or clean the bathroom."

"Uh, okay. I'll aim more carefully."

"Or laundry."

"I'll buy more clothes."

"I'm afraid it's a moot point."

"What? Why? What did you say to her?"

"I just told her what would be expected. When she realized you wanted her to actually do some work, she said: 'no thanks' and left."

"Jesus, Wilson. You let her get away? What's wrong with you?"

"I was looking for a housekeeper for you, not a living statue. Sorry."

"Any other prospects?"

"How do you feel about a green freak who's willing to transform your condo into an environmentally hip bachelor pad?" He watched his friend's reaction to that one. "Her words, not mine."

"What's wrong with a little toxic waste? All the big corporations do it."

"Exactly. That's why I hired Mabel."

"No bikini."

"Not on your life. Unfortunately that only solves one of your openings."

"Now who's thinking smutty thoughts?" House was quiet for a few moments before turning to the subject of medical assistance.

"If you thought the housekeepers were doozies-"

"Let me guess."

"I'm afraid your imagination isn't strange enough."

"What's worse than a housekeeper who's allergic to dust?"

"A CNA who can't do any lifting and faints at the sight of blood."

They chuckled over that thought briefly before silence ensued.

"So you're not going to tease me about a sexy one with a quirk."

"Wish there was one to talk about...There was one who was perky."

"And by perky you're referring to her breasts." House gave James his best lecherous grin.

"She would have been perfect. Qualified. No weird hang-ups."

"She must have had one."

"It was small."

"She knew who I was."

James nodded. "Absolutely inconsequential."

Roz was tired from a sleepless night, but had not rested throughout the day. Aside from the usual routine of walking and feeding Natasha, she now had to add physiotherapy to the schedule. That meant a bus trip to and from Princeton General. No, the time at the hospital wouldn't be so bad. It was the thought of waiting at the bus stop that started the butterflies flapping.

After several aborted starts, Roz put on her sneakers, harnessed the dog and headed for the door. Once she walked down the hallway and out the main entrance there was no turning back.

"Come on girl, it's now or never."


	20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

"It's all set." Cuddy dropped a file onto the tray in front of House. "We spring you by eleven am tomorrow. You go home and become someone else's problem."

"Yes," he hissed with triumph. "I am so outta here. You are by far the world's worst dominatrix."

"Who would have thought there could be a submissive kitty cat under that alpha male exterior?"

"The same person who misjudged you as a minx that happened to reek of masculine neediness."

"Try not to scare off the hired help. You can't come back here; and there's not a skilled nursing facility for a hundred miles that would let you in."

"I guess that only leaves asylums."

Wilson interrupted their banter to join in. "I hear Arkham has an opening."

"The Joker confused by the Riddler?" Cuddy tried to play the game.

"Nah, two-face escaped."

House shot Wilson a wry look. "Mr. Freeze has got Poison Ivy."

"Boys and their super heroes."

"Villains," House and Wilson corrected her in unison.

"Like you didn't idolize Wonder Woman," House added coyly.

"Checked your test results from when you were admitted to Princeton Plainsboro. Everything looks okay. How do you feel?"

Roz was on a mat on the floor letting the physical therapist check her range of motion. "As you can tell, I'm a little stiff in places."

"How's the pain level?"

"I can handle it."

"You're guarding," he warned.

"I know."

"Try to relax."

"I would if I could; but I can't, so I won't."

"Don't make me torture you."

"Promises, promises."

"On second thought, I'll take it easy on you. We'll start with a little moist heat. See if you can get that leg loosened up."

Roz fell asleep for twenty minutes. She didn't want to wake up but there was still the bus ride home. That thought alone got her heart pounding.

"What's wrong, did I hurt you?" The therapist ceased kneading her thigh muscles.

"No." Roz stared at him with confusion.

"You flinched and went pale."

"I'm all right," she lied.

He shook his head with disbelief. "If you say so."

The bus ride home was nerve wracking. With Roz's mounting anxiety came paranoia. She couldn't help but feel someone was following her. Maybe not following her, but at least watching her. She contemplated taking a Xanax but didn't. At this juncture she realized that her fear would keep her alert. There were two things she needed to know before she medicated the fear away: had the attacker been caught; and did Dr. O'Connor think she was being irrational.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

House's favorite nurse's aide showed up as his chauffeur, much to his chagrin. Wilson had gotten him dressed and ready as he wouldn't allow any of the nursing staff to touch him. The aide parked the wheelchair next to the bed, waiting for her cue to help him up.

"Dr. Wilson's got it," House grumbled.

"I could use some help. You're not the waif you used to be."

House realized soon enough that he was pretty unsteady. "Since you're my right hand man, you get that side. You, short woman, come over here and let me use you for balance."

The aide offered to place her shoulder under his, but House had to do it his way. He placed his palm on the crown of her head, turning himself into the chair. Wilson practically dropped him into the seat.

"You were a great help," House glared at his friend. He turned to the aide, who was rubbing the back of her neck. "You…were pivotal."

She snarled at him.

Wilson cocked an eyebrow.

"She's hot for me," House explained.

The aide unlocked the wheels and started rolling him at a brisk pace.

Wilson had to hustle to keep up. "Uh, that thing doesn't have a seat belt," he called out.

"All the better to dump him out once we hit the parking lot," she teased.

"You're just a ray of sunshine, aren't you?"

"Compared to the storm cloud that's you, I am a rainbow."

"I bet you stayed on just to torture me."

"Nope. Went home and had a good night's sleep. Then, unfortunately, I drew the short straw this morning."

Wilson snorted with laughter.

"Not funny," House shot him a warning look.

"Yep, I'm missing out on your big going away party the nursing staff is throwing."

Wilson had to cover his mouth with his hand to hide his laughter.

House took a deep breath of fresh air as they approached the passenger side of Wilson's car. "This is where I get off. I wish I could say it was a pleasure."

Together Wilson and the aide maneuvered him into the passenger seat. The aide shut the door and waited for Dr. Wilson to get in. She motioned for him to roll down House's window.

"You haven't told him, have you," she smiled evilly at House. Before Wilson could react, she finished. "Who do you think is going to be taking care of you at home? See you there," she winked and blew him a kiss.

Wilson covered his laughter with a fake coughing spell.

"You didn't," House looked desperate.

"I bet Arkham's looking good right about now," James said as he drove off.

Roz waited on hold for Detective Taylor to answer her call. Another sleepless night forced her to take action, even if it was only from the safety of her own home.

"Taylor," a gruff male voice answered.

"Sorry to bother you, detective. It's Roz Alonza."

"Is everything okay," he jumped in sounding a little anxious.

"Yes, yes. I was just wondering-"

"Miss Alonza, we are doing everything poss-"

"So he's still out there." She didn't want his admission to catch her off guard.

"We're still following some leads," he tried to sound hopeful. "I heard you were released from the hospital."

"Yeah," her voice betrayed her uncertainty.

"Try not to worry so much. We've beefed up patrols in your neighborhood and around the hospitals."

"I'm sure you're doing everything you can," Roz tried to sound optimistic.

"You sound anxious. It's to be expected, I suppose. I wish I could say something that would allay your fears, but aside from him being in custody or dead; I don't think there's anything that would work." Detective Taylor understood her better than she would realize.

"Thank-you," she nodded absently.

"You can't be too careful. Even if the assailant seems to have fled, you should still be aware of your surroundings. Keep the doors locked, the dog close and stay with groups of people. If you absolutely have to walk alone, carry pepper spray."

"Thanks for the advice," she said somberly, even though she felt like the edges of her world were folding in on itself.

"Home at last, home at last. Thank God I am home at last."

"Curb your enthusiasm, Dr. King." Wilson was trying to pry House out of the car when Mabel came out to help.

"Great the whole gang's here," Greg grumbled.

"I wanted to have things set so you could come home and rest."

"Once we get you settled in, I'll be out of your way," Mabel offered.

House stood at the bottom of the stoop and stared up the stairs steeling himself against what he knew would be torturous and humiliating.

"No sense standing out in the cold. I've got some hot soup waiting for you if you're hungry."

"Great…soup," he muttered.

"Be nice," James hissed.

House shuffled across the threshold into the apartment feeling the full weight of his injuries. "I gotta sit," he confessed.

Mabel kept one hand on him while hooking a chair with her foot to bring it closer. "You catch your breath."

"You look like hell," Wilson admitted.

"Good, I look better than I feel." He felt his sore ribs. "What moron released me?"

"You threatened everybody involved. So technically, you released you. They marked your file AMA."

"That was smart of them."

Roz stopped off at the corner store and found herself buying a pack of cigarettes. "You got any matches," she asked as the cashier changed her twenty. She pocketed both in her jacket and left. She wasn't really sure why she had bought the smokes. She had quit a long time ago. Maybe it was just something to do: her mind telling her to get out and live a little. When she got home, she tossed them in a junk drawer in the kitchen.

House was finally settled into bed when Mabel brought him soup. He was quite surprised to see that it was not a clear, boring broth. She had pureed a variety of vegetables into a hearty meal that made him feel full faster than he thought possible.

"Yummy," he smiled.

"I'm glad you like it," Mabel took the tray away and tucked him in. "You should get some rest."

"I like you will you be my new mommy," he mumbled, stifling a yawn.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

A shifting on the bed caused her to stir. More pressure on her legs made Roz's eyes pop open. The weight of Natasha's head shifted. Roz reached for the lamp. "What is it girl?"

The dog plaintively looked at her.

Roz reached over to pet her and felt the dog tremble. Crap, she's scared. Several thoughts ran through her head, none of which calmed her own nerves.

She listened for stray noises. A heater kicking on. Mrs. Johnson flushing the toilet upstairs. Nothing unusual, and sounds she was finally able to sleep through.

Natasha trembled again and pawed at the blankets. Roz lifted them up and watched curiously as the dog crawled under them.

"Great, some protector you are."

Then lightning split the sky with a great crack and it all became clear.

House awoke with a jolt sending waves of pain through his body. One moment it was day, then it was night. Dizzying thoughts swam in his head. He was down. He was injured. He was sheltered. Through his closed eyes he saw flashes of lights. In an ambulance? Streetlights passing overhead? On a gurney heading for the ER? The next flash of light stayed, confusing him all the more.

House tried to discover sounds, but there was only a distant rumbling like that of military planes in the distance. As the jets closed in, a voice rose out of the din causing him to recoil with fear.

Sheryl, his favorite nurse's aide from the hospital, leaned in the doorway watching her patient work his way through what seemed to be a bad dream. He moaned a few times, said some things and even opened his eyes once or twice. She didn't want to wake him unless the thrashing got to be too much. Either way she was prepared to give him the stronger pain meds his doctor had ordered.

Drs. Cuddy and Wilson warned her that Dr. House would be a difficult client at best. They didn't want her unusual brand of humor to lead to his dismissal of her. So it was decided that she would take the overnight shifts.

Dr. House had a reputation for being challenging; which Sheryl had experienced first hand, but she always knew that people behaved that way for a reason. Usually it was a coping mechanism to keep the world from seeing the pain they kept to themselves. She had survived her share of personal crap. She understood House's eccentricities. Now she was seeing up close how haunted he was by whatever demons were in his life.

"What are you smirking about," he croaked, his voice thick with sleep.

Sheryl cleared her throat nervously. "Sorry, I was thinking about something totally unrelated to this situation."

House grimaced with pain, looking from one bedside table to the other to see if his stash of Vicodin was in reach. "Where are my drugs?"

"In my careful control. Dr. Cuddy asked that your doses be monitored."

Don't worry, I won't OD."

"Wouldn't care if you did. But I won't help you to get there either." She reached into her pocket for the vial. Deftly she retrieved a pill without House seeing what it was.

"How do I know it's not a cyanide capsule?"

She disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a glass of water. "Look, as much as you flatter me with the Mata Hari remarks, I need the money. So it wouldn't be in my best interest if you kicked off."

House looked at the pill before he swallowed it. "Oxy, awesome."

Roz was able to fall back to sleep, the warmth of the dog under the covers lulling her into comfortable oblivion. She wasn't sure how long it lasted before the sound of thunder woke her again. Instead of instant panic, she was able to rationalize the fear. That was until Natasha jumped up, taking the covers with her. It wasn't the abruptness that unnerved Roz but Natasha's low growling. She reached for the bedside light as the dog stalked her way out of the bedroom.

Was what she assumed to be thunder really someone knocking on the door? Natasha's actions surely pointed to that probability. Roz sat up in bed trying to listen over the dog's growling and the hammering of her own heart. Three hard knocks resonated into her room. She held her breath. Again the knocks resounded, this time more forcefully.

"Open the damned door," a male voice called out.

Roz reached for her phone.

"Open this fucking door before I break it down," he shouted, emphasizing his growing anger with an open palm slamming against the wood.

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

Roz was terrified beyond words. The prowler began assaulting the door with fists and feet. Natasha was barking ferociously.

The 911 operator could hear the ruckus through the phone. "Ma'am, a car is on it's way. Are you still with me?"

Roz nodded, then realized it couldn't be seen. "Yes," she stammered.

"Are you in a separate room where you can lock yourself behind another door?"

Her breathing was ragged, her brain fuzzy. Was this woman suggesting she move toward the door? Was she insane?

"Ma'am, stay with me."

"Okay," she whispered as she crawled toward the bedroom door.

A boom shattered her fear as the invader threw himself against the door. He continued his verbal assault. With the last thundering, Natasha backed up. Roz called for her, but the dog continued defending the door.

The phone slipped from Roz's hand. She felt fuzzy around the edges of consciousness. The last thing she heard was the horrible noise of the wood cracking.


	23. Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

"Thank you, I will." Lisa Cuddy hung up her phone with a worried sigh. She looked out her office window watching the light snowfall frost the trees. She was tempted to call House. Surely she would have heard if anything had gone wrong at his place. Cuddy turned back to her phone and called Wilson.

Within minutes he was seated across from her trying to placate the nervous Dean of Medicine. "Short of hiring an armed guard to stand outside his door, there's nothing we can do to protect him."

"He doesn't even have an alarm system for the windows."

"Think about it, Lisa, he wouldn't be safe even with bells and sirens going off."

"Yeah," she chuckled, "he'd be so annoyed by the noise, he'd give an intruder the code to shut it off before the attack."

"Either that or defend himself by throwing Vicodin."

"One pill at a time," she snorted.

"Knowing him, his defense would be: 'the prescription says one pill every four hours.'"

"Are we worrying needlessly?"

"Probably."

House reached over to his phone and dialed Wilson, who answered after the first ring.

"It's House," Wilson told Cuddy as he fumbled to answer. "What do I tell him," he mouthed to Cuddy as House greeted him.

Cuddy shrugged.

"House, hey, how's it going," James' voice sounded plastic in his own ears.

"Well, by the tone of your voice, I'd say I should be asking you that question."

"Uh...well-"

"How are the kids?" House was testing him. Wilson never hemmed and hawed unless he was trying to avoid his friend or make up a lie on the spot. "Never mind, you took too long to answer a simple question. What's really going on?"

"I'm in Cuddy's office-we were just talking about you."

"Comparing notes on our sexual prowess was she?" Even when he felt crappy, House couldn't help but feel a tiny bit threatened by being left out.

"That's so last year," Wilson fell right into step with the games. It was an easy out to his dis-ease with the situation.

"Nah, you couldn't even think about what to say. You're hiding something. Spill it."

"I'm going to put you on speaker phone so I don't have to repeat this conversation to Cuddy."

"If you must," House sighed with mock disgust. He was actually smiling with the thought of hearing Cuddy's voice.

"Hello, House," Lisa's voice betrayed a bit of hesitation.

House picked up on it right away. "If somebody doesn't tell me what's going on, I'm going to-"

"Okay, okay, but you'll think it's boring-especially since it doesn't concern you directly."

"So it does concern me indirectly. You've got me more that slightly interested."

"Fine. We were discussing Roz's dilemma." Cuddy was a bit irritated by House, knowing he wouldn't care about Roz or feel any connection for his own safety.

"Oh, well, let's not be selfish and talk about me. Even if it is only indirectly. Got any interesting cases? How are the kids? I'm sure they need my input. After all, I am the only one willing to shoot down their idiotic theories."

"House, we're discussing Roz's safety, and consequently, yours." Wilson shifted in his seat.

"My safety of choice is a condom. Roz's best bet would be vagina dentata."

"God, is everything open to sexual interpretation with you?" Cuddy was quickly becoming frustrated.

"Only when it sounds like I'm being fucked with." House's voice took on an edge he reserved for extremely serious circumstances. "So either tell me what you know or this conversation is over."

"You called me," Wilson reminded him.

"My Spidey senses were tingling. Still are."

"Curiosity killed the cat," Cuddy mumbled.

"Satisfaction brought him back," House retorted.

"And we have completely lost the thread of this phone call and what Cuddy and I were discussing. Goodbye, House." Wilson hung up. He looked at his watch. "I've got a few appointments. I have to go." He left Lisa with her mouth agape.

James peeled away his exam gloves, threw them in the trash can and signed off on his patient's chart. His mind threatened to wander a few times during the last exam, knowing once it was over he'd be able to think about Roz and possibly form a plan to help her out.

On the drive to her house he tried calling both her home and cell numbers. The cell went straight to voicemail. Maybe she was out walking the dog and forgot to turn the cell on. He hoped that was the case.

Pulling up to her building he found a parking spot not too far away. Aside from a person smoking out front, there was no one around. James pulled up his coat collar and jammed his hands into his pockets against the cold. He made a wide berth around the smoker.

"Dr. Wilson?"

The voice was timid but familiar. Wilson stopped and turned to the stranger.

Roz crushed out her cigarette.

"Where's Natasha?" Wilson was shocked to see her alone, especially after last night's ordeal.

"Left her just inside," she pointed to the door. "Don't want her to smell like a cigarette."

"I didn't know you smoked."

"I quit a while back. But lately..." She shrugged.

"I heard about last night."

"Yeah...last night. Makes me want to light up another cancer stick."

"Do me a favor and don't. Have you eaten yet?"

"Not really hungry."

Roz seemed distant. Wilson figured she was putting up a brave front for him. Or maybe she was still in shock.

"I just stopped by to see how you were doing. Do you need anything?"

"Another pack of cigarettes," she said half-jokingly.

"I'm sure you could find other comfort mechanisms," Wilson began as she led him into the building.

"Smoking does something other comforts don't."

"What's that?"

"It forces me to go outside of this building and confront my fears-alone."

Wilson followed her to a door that looked like it had been put on in a hurry.

"Mind the mess." She said stepping over the scraped up section of the floor. "At least the police tape is down."

Flat affect. This isn't good. "Have you talked with anyone since..."

"Had a quick conversation with my therapist. But no, not really."

"Hopefully you've got an appointment soon."

"Probably. I'd have to look it up in my date book. If I could find my date book."

"Roz, I'm really worried about you. So is Dr. Cuddy."

"I'm fine."

Wilson had heard that response in the same tone from House so many times that he couldn't help but feel uneasy. House was never fine when he said it that way.

Cuddy knocked softly on James door before entering. "Hey."

"Come on in. Just finishing up a few notes." He motioned for her to take a seat.

Cuddy looked around his office as if she were seeing it for the first time. Avoidance was a useful tool.

"Aren't you here to ask me about my visit with Roz?" Wilson pushed away his files and folded his hands on his desk.

"Did she seem okay?"

"Not in the least."

Cuddy leaned forward in her seat. "What do you mean?"

"It was like meeting a total stranger."

"She didn't remember you?"

"She did, but it was awkward. She was out of character. Smoking. Flat affect. Robotic in her actions."

"Poor girl, she's heading for a meltdown."

"I think it already happened and this is what's left."

"I hope not. She's a good person; a hard worker."

"I may have overstepped some boundaries, but I contacted her therapist."

"You didn't breach any confidentiality. You're not her employer or her doctor."

"I was thinking more of a friendship boundary."

"Isn't that what friends do when they help each other out?"

"I tried to hold this friendship up to yours and mine, up to me and House…I can talk to you, straight up and offer a helping hand. House and I have no boundaries, sad as that is. With Roz I feel like this outside observer. A clinician watching surgery from the observatory."

"It's not like you've known her for years. I even feel like I'm on the periphery."

"This wall or buffer zone, or whatever it is didn't happen until the attack. It's changed her."

There was silence as both contemplated the same thought. Cuddy was the only one willing to put a voice to the concern.

"Are you afraid the same thing might happen to House?" She shifted position, uncomfortable with the idea.

"He's isolated himself, withdrawn from his professional life...I don't know."

"James, he's healing from some pretty serious injuries. You don't think his pride and ego haven't been assaulted as well? He's dealing with it the best way he knows how, internal validation. He'll have a pity party for himself and then come back the same smart-ass he always has been."

Wilson leaned in toward her. "You don't really believe that."

Cuddy backed away. "No."

"Roz did ask for one thing."

"Whatever it is, we could arrange it." Cuddy sprang into administrator mode, her previous distraction pushed aside in hopes of actually being able to do something useful.

"She wants to talk to House."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

House was sitting up in bed, having been pampered by the day nurse enough to look presentable. Although he complained through the bath, some general grooming and a change of bedding, he felt a good fifty percent healthier. Somehow the musty air in the bedroom had been eliminated. That was probably a smart idea when expecting a guest. Everything was so neat and tidy, he almost felt like he was staying at a four start hotel. Almost.

The doorbell rang, and he found himself a little nervous. There was a brief exchange of pleasantries in the living room before he heard uneven footsteps echo in the hallway. House had been prepared with a snide remark, but was unable to contain a frown when Roz entered.

She registered his look of displeasure, immediately interpreting it as he didn't want her there. Roz grabbed onto the doorway with both hands, preventing herself from both entering and running away.

"Don't just stand there holding up the doorway. Come in and sit down. This is the official House infirmary." House watched her carefully.

Roz entered, aware of his scrutiny.

"His Royal Highness has granted you an audience. Speak, plebe."

She sat there unable to form thoughts. Just being in the room with him opened the emotional flood gates.

House saw the unshed tears as they welled in her eyes. "No leaking in the royal bedchamber."

Roz wiped away the tears with her sleeve.

"I heard about your latest ordeal."

She managed a weak smile. "I feel more idiotic with each day that passes."

"Idiotic? I could think of a million other adjectives to describe what you could be feeling, but idiotic isn't one of them."

"I panicked," she laughed nervously as she took the seat next to the bed.

"Panic is good. It's the easiest thing to do when you're trapped. It's also the human thing to do."

"He wasn't after me. It was just dumb drunken fool kicking in the wrong door." Another nervous laugh covered her apparent relief.

"Do you think any other person would have reacted much differently? Especially since you've already had more than your share of run-ins with unsavory characters."

"I guess I have a lot of bad luck."

"Call it what you want. Don't be ashamed to be afraid. Just don't let your fear dictate who you are."

"I'm trying not to, but it's difficult. I don't feel safe most of the time." She grabbed her left knee up to her chest and hugged it as if trying to ball herself up.

"When do you feel safe?"

"At work. I used to feel safe at home, but not anymore. And when I'm with you." She blushed a little.

House wanted to respond quickly with a wisecrack but stopped himself. She was in a fragile emotional state, reaching out to him of all people. It had to be as awkward for her to say it as it was for him to hear it. "You feel safe with me? You do realize that I couldn't defend you against a cockroach in this state."

"I don't need you to defend me," her hurt tone was evident.

He felt lost in the conversation. "Then how could I make you feel safe?"

Roz sat up, leaning in toward him as if revealing a secret. "You see me for who I am. It's as if everyone else sees me as damaged. They treat me like an injured six-year-old. With you it's no kid gloves, no molly coddling."

"In all honesty that's not one hundred percent true." He watched her face fall a bit.

"You're damaged, physically, at least. And sometimes I censor myself around you." He knew he was crushing her spirit. "But it's not for the reasons you might think.

"I see a lot of myself in you-although I can't really believe I'm saying this. You've had some rough breaks early on in life. Been there, done that. What you have that I didn't was the support system in place to help you pick yourself back up."

"I don't have family or friends," she spoke softly.

"Don't need the first part. Sometimes they can be as toxic as arsenic. And as for the friends, they come in all strengths: bff, co-workers, colleagues.

"I know what it's like to be shot down when you're looking for help getting up. I also know what it's like to shoot down the offer of help. It's my initial instinct-my trademark."

"Then I'm honored that you have yet to draw your weapon."

"Remorse is a pain in the ass to deal with. It's a lot easier to make amends than to temporarily drown it out with Vicodin."

Roz sat back, a little disconcerted with the doctor's platitudes. "How much pain medication are you on?"

"Enough to keep me feeling mellow."

"It figures. How much of what you've been saying is because of the meds?"

"Most of it." He smiled dopily.

"Great, I'm having a heart-to-heart with the Kool-aid Man."

"No, really. I'm feeling no pain, but my brain is primo."

"Yeah, right."

"You came here because you wanted something from me, or had to say something to me. So do what you came here to do."

Hell, what did she have to lose? "I want to visit you regularly." She rushed through it so he couldn't interrupt.

"Um, a little slower. I could only process ever other word. It sounded like you said you wanted to do me."

"I want to visit you every day."

"Every day? I'm a lucky man."

Roz noticed House was drooling a bit and his eyes had become glassy. "You're wasted."

"Yes, every day."

"You don't know what you've gotten yourself into," she laughed, a spark of her old self broke through the darkness. You're going to be-"

"Happy, happy, happy," House muttered goofily as he drifted off to sleep.

A few moments later Roz entered the living room where Wilson and Natasha were waiting for her.

"It looks like things went well," Wilson probed.

Roz smiled coyly as she sat down.

"No rending of garments or bloodshed. That's a plus. Also no crashing of furniture or breaking glass. For House that's a success."

"He's wasted." She couldn't help but snigger. I'd check your cache. I think he's pilfered a few extra pain pills," she told the aide.

Wilson frowned with concern.

"At first he was jovial, then philosophical, followed by emotional, and ending with just plain silly," Roz explained.

"Wow, I wish I could have witnessed it," Wilson said wistfully.

"He'll deny it ever happened."

"At least you seemed to have brightened a great deal. I bet it felt good to let it out," Wilson patted her right knee with reassurance.

Roz flinched.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot."

"No worries," Roz offered automatically as she rubbed her thigh. "It's just a bit sensitive."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

House spent the first week of Roz's visits getting used to her presence in the apartment along with the sound of Natasha' paws as she padded on the hardwood floor. He wasn't sure how long she was spending at his place as he tended to sleep a lot. She just seemed to always be there when he awoke in the middle of the day.

On the days Mabel came over to clean and prep his meals, Roz would sit with him and discuss topics that either drove him insane or amazed him. He wasn't sure where she was getting her cues from, but she was smart. He spent a whole afternoon trying to figure out why she was working as a secretary. Then he remembered what Lucas had found. It bugged him for the rest of the day that he couldn't remember where he had looked at the file last.

He awoke with a start. It was late. The room was dark. No matter, he had dreamed about reading Roz's file. He remembered where he had seen it last.

"Hello, starving human in the bedroom," House called out, not too sure of whom would come running. This time he was careful not to actually use the word 'help'. The one and only time he did nearly got him throttled by a very upset Mabel. He swore he'd be more careful as not to give the nice woman a coronary.

Sheryl made an appearance at the doorway. "Are you really hungry or do you need something else?"

"Is it that late?"

"It's that early. I'll fix you something light."

"Before you go, can you check the nightstand drawers? I'm looking for a file."

Sheryl acquiesced, heading for the closest side. She opened the top drawer. "What color is the file?"

"There's more than one in there?" House was genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, there's a couple."

"I'll take them all." House watched as she fanned four files on the bed. "Second from the left."

Sheryl placed it within his reach, putting the others back.

"There should be some-"

She handed him his reading glasses.

"A mind reader. Can you guess what I'm thinking now?"

Sheryl disappeared as House delved into the file.

House was asleep, the file open next to him, his glasses askew on his face. He stirred with the sound of paws on hardwood flooring that ended with a jolt to the bed.

"Natasha, come," Roz whispered harshly.

The dog didn't move.

She was forced to physically pull the dog off the bed. A few loose papers came with her. Roz rushed to put them back, but not before noticing her name on them.

House opened one eye to see her reaction. She was staring at him incredulously.

"You have a file on me?" She didn't give him time to answer.

"Roz, don't walk away. Give me a chance to explain." But she was already gone.

He pushed himself into a sitting position and reached for the phone. Within seconds Wilson picked up. "Need you."

"What did you do?" Wilson knew from the tone of his friend's voice that he screwed up.

"Roz found out I had a file on her."

"And why do you have a file on her? Or should I not ask?"

"Long story. I was going to tell her, but I didn't get the chance."

"And now you want me to patch things up?"

"I want you to bring her back here so I can explain."

"I don't think that's going to be easy."

"Sure it is. You pick her up, drive her to my place -"

"House. You don't realize what you've done. She paranoid, scared, afraid someone is following her. And then she finds out you hired someone to follow her. You were the only person she felt safe with!"

"Calm down, Wilson. I didn't send anybody to follow her. I had Lucas do a little background check on her when she first started."

"You just couldn't leave things alone, could you?"

"If you knew what I know, you might feel differently. Maybe you should see for yourself. Come by after work and bring something solid for me to eat." House hung up knowing Wilson would come.

James Wilson had known Gregory House for over a decade. They had been through many rough patches over the years-enough to know that House was manipulative but not necessarily malicious. He only hoped he could convince Roz of it. He called to let her know he was coming over to talk, but she didn't answer. He left a message. He tried her cell, but it went straight to voicemail. James figured he should just show up. It would be hard to avoid him if the dog was barking at the door. But much to his surprise, she wasn't home either.

He came to House's empty-handed. Neither man was happy.

"I'm going to grab a beer. I'll find something for you."

Wilson returned to the bedroom sans coat and tie, his shirt sleeves rolled up and the top button of his shirt undone. He sat unceremoniously in the wing backed chair next to the bed.

"She wouldn't come?'

"I couldn't find her."

"What do you mean you couldn't find her?"

"She wasn't home."

"Hmm."

"You have an uncanny knack of pushing people away."

"I didn't flaunt the information in front of her. I fell asleep before putting it in a drawer. She came in while I was sleeping."

Wilson reached for the paperwork. "Why did you have Lucas check on her?"

"You know me. I've got to dig myself into a hole whenever possible." He watched Wilson contemplate looking at the documents…."I only wanted to find some embarrassing dirt on her. I wasn't expecting to open up a can of worms."

Wilson put his feet up on the bed and settled in to read. House laid back and closed his eyes. He could see each page of the dossier as Wilson read it. After a long period of silence Wilson was sure House had dozed off. He got up to use the bathroom. Upon return House was sitting up ready to discuss the contents with his friend.

"Were you planning on blackmailing her about the fake resume?" Wilson was trying to figure out his friend's angle.

"When a simple search turned up a ghost, I had Lucas dig to the next level. I have to admit I wasn't prepared for what I found."

"And what did you think you would gain with this information?"

"I was curious. I had no plans to use this information."

"You had no plans. But now you do."

"She's highly intelligent and working as a secretary."

"So."

"So, she should be finishing her thesis and working in her field, not hiding behind some desk."

"You can't fault her for wanting time to recover."

"She's miserable. She should be working through this by finishing her doctorate, not avoiding it."

"That's all good in theory, but you're forgetting one thing: it's not your life to control."

"Don't think of it as control, think of it as peer support."

Wilson and House continued to discuss Roz's situation for several more hours, debating the best way to approach her with the truth. Both men were mentally exhausted, and House dozed off giving Wilson the perfect opportunity to escape.

As he crossed the room House woke up. "Where're you going?"

"To find our friend and tell her you're not the asshole she thinks you are."

The next morning found House awaking to the sounds of female voices beyond the bedroom. He anticipated Roz's entrance but was thrown for a loop when he heard high heels clacking down the hall. Cuddy appeared in his doorway with more clothing on than he was used to seeing her in.

"Only second rate doctors make house calls."

"If I'm such a second rate doctor, than why am I you're primary?" She sat next to him on the bed and grabbed his wrist to check his pulse.

"Why are you here?"

"Sheryl called me. Said you sounded a bit wheezy in your sleep."

"That's just me snoring."

Cuddy plugged in her stethoscope, and without being told to, House took a deep breath, exhaling evening, or so he thought.

"Your chart says you've been sleeping a lot."

"I'm catching up on the years I've lost when I was in med school."

"You should be up and moving around. Are you depressed?"

"I'm recovering."

"You've lost weight. Not hungry?"

"Just sick of mush."

Let's get you up and take a walk around the apartment."

Cuddy was surprised that he was still as weak as he was. "You should be doing better than this."

"I should be on a beach in Tahiti surrounded by scantily clad nymphs."

House leaned heavily on Cuddy, at first it was to tease her, but when she let go, he wasn't as steady as he expected.

"Stop being a baby. You're going to end up with pneumonia if you don't keep moving around."

House sat on the couch and harrumphed.

"Stop acting like an old man."

"Make up your mind. I can't be a baby and an old man at the same time." He let Cuddy move the throw pillows around to make him comfortable.

"As far as being a patient goes, you are the worst."

"I'm glad to be able to spread my miserable brand of cheer wherever I go."

"I'm going to get a physical therapist in here three times a week. You need more calories and protein in your diet as well. You have three weeks to shape up."

"That's arbitrary."

"The Board gave you six weeks."

"My doctor can negotiate more."

"I don't want to have to."

Twenty minutes after Cuddy left Wilson arrived. House was dozing on the couch, the television on low as the aide leafed through a magazine. "How's he doing?"

"He got a bad review from Dr. Cuddy."

"She was here?"

"She came, she saw, she conquered."

"Why the bad review?"

House stirred. "Too much sleep, not enough food, yada yada yada." He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "I've gone down ten points in my growth percentile."

"She left a list of supplements he needs," the aide said, barely looking up.

"I can get them a little later."

"Did you find Roz?" House strained his neck trying to see behind him.

Wilson took his coat off and sat down. "Yeah, you'll never guess where."

"The library."

"How'd you know?"

"She spent a lot of time on her doctorate. At some point the library had to come into play. I figure she might be reverting to places in her old stomping grounds that felt safe."

"That's a ridiculous conclusion. Her old stomping grounds are the site of the first attack."

"The graduate library has metal detectors and lots of cameras. Pretty safe considering they're trying to keep the reference books from being stolen."

"Sure, that's safe, but the way to and from the library isn't."

"Feel free to blame her new found bravado on me," House sighed feeling like always, he was inevitably to blame.

"Why would I blame it on you?"

"I might have said something that resonated with her."

"Like what, stick yourself in harm's way and see what happens?"

"Third time's a charm."

"Not funny, House."

"If you seriously think I would suggest that she make herself a target-"

"I don't know what to think. The problem is you don't think before you speak."

"You're giving me a headache."

"You're giving me a stroke."

"Boys, boys, behave or I'll have to turn the hose on the both of you."

They both gazed at the aide who held up her hands in surrender.

"What did you tell her?"

"Just that she has the right to be afraid, but that she shouldn't let it run her life."

"That's benign."

"So what do we do now?"

"You're the brains of this operation; you figure it out."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

It took a few days but Roz was finally intercepted by a librarian carrying an envelope. She had gotten three feet beyond the metal detectors when a woman called out her name as she approached.

"Doctor Wilson asked me to give this to you." She offered the package to Roz.

Roz didn't know whether she should be relieved that he got in touch with her or pissed that he was now following her. She headed for her usual carrel in the back area of the English Literature; the dullest and quietest place in the building. Natasha crawled under the cubicle while her master unloaded her backpack and removed her jacket before taking a seat. The envelope seemed ominous while at the same time held hope.

She unfolded the paper and began to read:

First of all, don't get mad at Wilson. He was just the messenger. Second, don't stop reading. I need to explain a few things; things that should only be said face-to-face. I have a proposition for you. To hear it requires a visit to my apartment (a request you made of me earlier this week, by the way). Hear me out before you write me off. Call Wilson for a ride.

H

PS I don't think you should be hanging out at the library alone.

Roz folded it back up and returned it to the envelope? Who in the hell does he think he is? She tossed the envelope aside, proceeding to pull out what she had been working on. Once the papers and books were spread out, her desire to continue waned.

"Damn him!" She started packing everything back up.

"Do you need help with anything," the librarian appeared out of thin air.

Roz jumped. Why did House have to remind her not to be alone? Now she was nervous, verging on paranoid. "No thank you. I forgot something at home." She shrugged. "I can't move forward without it." Her smile was fake. The minute the librarian left, the scowl crept back across her face.

Standing in Dr. Cuddy's interoffice, Roz found herself face-to-face with her replacement. She could see the Dean of Medicine working at her desk and wanted to walk right in, but knew the assistant was there to keep her from doing just that. "I'd like to see Dr. Cuddy," Roz announced.

Before the temp could say anything, Cuddy was waving Roz in. "What are you up to," Cuddy approached her and gave Natasha a pat on the head.

Roz found it harder than she expected to speak with her boss. "This is a bit awkward for me."

"Let me guess: it has to do with House." Cuddy ushered her to the couch.

"I'm not here on a professional level. I figure you know the boys better than anyone else."

"The boys?" Lisa asked nervously. "Wilson is part of the problem too?"

Roz nodded, bowing her head in embarrassment.

"Well, Wilson has been known to facilitate some of House's dirty work-mostly unbeknownst to him. But he's also the one who tries to smooth things over when House wants to make amends."

"Dr. Wilson seems sincere. I'm not so sure about Dr. House's intentions."

Cuddy relaxed, a smile crossing her lips. "If House is messing with your head, it's because he likes you. Otherwise he'd ignore you like he does everyone else."

"I get that. I'm not sure of his motives."

"He's a manipulative bastard who likes to play with people. He believes the experience he delivers is eye-opening and life changing for the person he's playing - like a game of cat and mouse-but what he doesn't realize is the emotional distress it's causing that person. He's a bit Machiavellian in that the ends justify the means. He'd rather be the evil genius than the brilliant doctor who stood by and did nothing."

"He's found out some things about me." Roz felt she had no choice but to come clean.

"I know about the private detective." Cuddy patted Roz's hand with reassurance. "The hospital does background checks as well." She saw panic flash in Roz's eyes. "Don't worry, your job is secure."

Roz exhaled a breath she hadn't realize she had been holding. She handed the note from House to Dr. Cuddy. "Should I trust him?"

Lisa scanned through it and gave it back. "You should at least let him squirm. He'll be doing a lot of it as he gets himself out of this one. This and the fact that the information he has is useless against you."

"Does he know it's useless?

Cuddy saw a glint in Roz's eyes akin to what she had seen in House's so many times before when he was formulating a plan.

Wilson opened his door and was startled by Roz & Natasha blocking his exit. "Whoa!" He took a step back. "How long have you been standing out there?"

"Long enough."

"What can I do for you?" He stepped aside expecting her to enter his office.

"Not a thing." She didn't make a move.

"Well, I'm on my way out for the day."

"Don't let me stop you." Roz stepped aside letting Wilson through. She waited until he reached the elevators and then headed that way. The elevator doors opened and Wilson got in followed by Roz and the dog. They rode to the lobby.

Roz waited for everyone to exit before she left the elevator and followed Dr. Wilson to the front doors.

Wilson was very conscious of being followed. It unnerved him. He turned on Roz, almost knocking her over. "Are you stalking me?"

"Feels weird, doesn't it?"

"I get it, you're annoyed with me. I tried to track you down; leave messages, but I always seemed to miss you."

"How'd you know about the library? Did you follow me there?" Roz followed him toward what she assumed was his car.

"House has a sixth sense about peoples' movements and motives. I followed up on his guess of the library and confirmed it with the librarian."

Roz stopped in her tracks. "So what does he want from me?"

It was Wilson's turn to squirm. "He wants you to get back to what's normal for you."

"There's nothing normal for me. Six months ago my life changed. Normal has taken on new meaning because I'm a different person."

"You don't want to finish your thesis? Graduate? Have a career?"

"They're not my top priorities."

"What is," Wilson asked sadly.

"I don't know." But she did. Roz wasn't ready to verbalize her aspirations for fear that others would think them petty.

"You should talk to House anyway."

"No need. It's not like he has damning evidence against me. There's no threat if I don't."

"If you don't, neither one of us will be at peace. He's pretty persistent."

Roz thought about it for a few moments. "Fine, I'll do it for you. Pick a date and time."

"Why should I choose?" They ended their walk at Wilson's car.

"The letter said you'd give me a ride."

"Oh, well I certainly could. I just assumed you'd drive yourself."

"Dr. House is evidently aware that I'm not driving these days. He should really call off his watch dog."

James stopped what he was doing, a frown on his face. "House can't know you're not driving. Lucas has been off the case since the night-wait a minute. How did he know?"

"There are some days when I wish House would stop playing games and be forthcoming with his intentions." James Wilson was incensed with his friend's behavior. He thought he knew House's motives for this meeting, but now he wasn't so sure. He had an inkling that the great doctor had noticed something about Roz's past, present or future and wanted to grandstand over his epiphany.

"Why are you so anxious?" Roz was beginning to regret her decision to meet with Dr. House.

James glanced over at her. "For as long as I've known House, he's always had a card up his sleeve. This time I think I know what card that is."

"All the better to beat him at his own game."

Wilson returned his attention back to the road. "I don't think you'll want to know what that card is." He pulled into a 7-11.

"Great. You can just let me out here."

"I think you should hear him out. I also think that we better get some beer and arrive with a gift of food. We want to keep his mood positive."

"Why are you deferring to him? What does he have over you?"

"Nothing," James said quickly. "Do you drink? Wine? Beer? Nevermind, I'm sure he has something if you need it."

"I'm fine," Roz was becoming irritated.

"I'll be right back." Wilson hurried into the store.

Roz watched him move through the aisles like a man on a mission. If she had ever thought James Wilson was a normal guy, this proved her wrong. She looked over the seat to Natasha who was sitting on the floor. "He is one strange bird."

Wilson opened the door to 221B unceremoniously. He hadn't called in advance, and was surprised that no one was even curious about someone entering. House was reclined on the couch staring mournfully at the piano. The day aide was at the kitchen counter engrossed in a novel of some sort.

"House," Wilson called out but got no response. "House!"

"Hey, Wilson," House acknowledged him in voice only.

"Something wrong?" James walked to the kitchen to unload the groceries on the counter.

Roz and Natasha entered the apartment. It felt different from previous times she had visited. House was very subdued. Roz had to wonder if he had taken a little extra Vicodin again. She was almost tempted to check a few of the places where she knew he kept his back up stashes.

"Brought you company and food," Wilson taunted.

House was slow in coming out of his reverie. "Oh."

James looked from his friend to the aide. "I hate to interrupt that fascinating story, but how long has he been like this?"

"About an hour," she said looking over the book. "Said he wanted to be alone with his piano. Then he banished me to the kitchen."

"Well, you're shift's almost over. I'll take it from here."

"You sure?" She seemed to realize he wasn't happy with her.

"Yeah, we have some personal business to discuss. He'll be okay."

"No problem," she walked across the room to the coat rack, donned her jacket and left without so much as a good-bye.

Roz took off her coat and unlaced her boots before pulling them off. Natasha took the freedom as a sign to go over and put her head in House's lap.

"What do you want, mutt?" Natasha look up, her tail wagging. "What'd you bring me," he called over his shoulder, ignoring the dog.

Wilson arranged the food on three plates, handing the first one to House and the next to Roz.

They ate in silence, Roz barely looking up from her plate. House was relishing every morsel. James sat like the third corner of the triumvirate watching the other two warily. It stayed quiet even as Wilson cleared the plates and washed the dishes.

Roz stared at House. House stared back. Wilson returned feeling like a referee at a duel.

"It's got to suck being right here and not being able to play any of the instruments," Roz broke the ice.

House winced. "Playing piano relaxes me; helps me think through things."

"Like I said, it's got to suck."

"I suppose no worse than being a criminologist and a victim."

Roz realized she was smirking in response. "Why do you care so much?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Uh, let's see...it has nothing to do with you?"

"Are you certain?"

"Well, unless you're the person who made me the victim, I'm pretty sure."

Wilson jumped in for the first time. "This is a great battle of witlessness, but in the interest of time, House, you should just get to the matter at hand."

"So start explaining." Roz sat back, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

House reached for his dossier. "This is a paper trail I hired a private dick to dig up."

"Why? What did I do to deserve your attention?"

"Absolutely nothing. I was after something that might cause Cuddy some grief. I wasn't expecting what I found." He put the file down.

"There's nothing in there that Dr. Cuddy doesn't already know about."

"True. I got curious as to what you could be hiding. I opened up Pandora's box."

"Never figured it would bite you in the ass, eh?"

"Wasn't the first time; won't be the last."

"If that's your idea of an apology-"

"That was so not an apology."

"You've explained yourself."

"Not wholeheartedly. I want you to continue with your thesis, graduate and kick some criminal butt."

"Those aren't my priorities now."

"No," House smirked, "your first priority is to see Dr. Barnes. I made an appointment for you. It's tomorrow at two."

"You guys are unbelievable!" Roz was shaking her head. "This one calls my shrink and you-"

"Wilson! How could you?" House said with mock disgust.

"Me?"

"You're like meddling children."

"I like to meddle. I'm good at it. You, on the other hand, are not good at hiding symptoms."

Wilson turned to Roz with a solemn look. "Remember that card up his sleeve? Here it comes."

"Your range of motion has decreased, you're limping more and well, let's keep my last bit of information between me and you. Keep your paws to yourself. I don't like to share."

Roz blushed. How could he possibly know about the few Vicodin she swiped? He was never in the room.

James gave his friend a concerned look.

House shook his head as if to say "don't go there."

"Fine. Are we done?" Roz got up.

"Not hardly. Now that we've taken care of your first priority, I have a request."

"Ask away," she figured he was going to press every button he could find.

"I'd like to see your research and read your thesis."

It was a simple request. She could hardly believe that was all he wanted. "You must really be bored."

"If I'm going to invest my time into persuading you to finish your doctorate, I figure I had better make sure it's worthy of my time."

"Yeah, because my finishing outweighs you saving a few people."

"I don't save people. I diagnose illness and prescribe treatment. If they live-bonus for them."

"You are a saint above all others," Wilson said with exasperation.

"You thought it was a worthy cause," House sneered at his friend.

"It is. It's your approach to nurturing that needs work."

"This is all you want? My research? Fine, you can have it."

"And if I deem it worthy of completion, I want your world you'll finish."

"I'm not going to guarantee that."

House shifted so he could appear more forceful. "You have spent years working to be top of your class. Why would you throw it all away?"

Roz got up and walked to the window. She focused on a snow frosted tree. "After your infarction, did you want to jump back in to being a doctor?"

House didn't answer. He was shocked that she even brought it up.

"I know you're no stranger to it." Roz peered at him sideways to see if she got a reaction.

"And here you are full of contentment and adept at joyful annoyance."

"Jealous much?"

House exhaled heavily. "Don't transfer how you feel on to me."

"And you're in denial. How many years has it been? What did you lose in life because of it?"

Wilson got up and went to the bar. He poured two whiskeys and returned handing one to House. Earlier in the evening he assumed Roz would end up needing a stiff drink.

House downed the drink before answering. "I'm kind of a lost cause. I don't want you to have to lose anything." He held out his glass to Wilson, indicating a refill was in order.

Roz turned from the window to face him. "Right now I'm just trying not to lose myself."


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Roz had gone back to her old arrangement of hanging around House's place for most of the day. She spent most of her time observing him as he read through her notes. He didn't say much, but by his breathing patterns he seemed too absorbed. She didn't think it was as interesting as he was making it out to be.

House, on the other hand, was sure he would be mostly bored to tears. Much to his surprise, Roz's subject matter was quite interesting. He was intoxicated in the details, his mind readily seeing the connections in data that hers had made.

One afternoon he peered up at her through his reading glasses. She was watching him intently and didn't miss him gaze up at her.

"Why are you looking at me like a lioness on the prowl?"

"You've read and re-read through the notes and yet you still seem fascinated."

House removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "Why did you choose this particular case?"

Roz settled into the chair. "Everyone in the program was taking cases that were solved and validating new technologies and theories on old information. Although it may be interesting to speculate a forensic psychological profile on Kleibold and Harris from Columbine, it's moot.

"I wanted to take a cold case, apply current technology and, hopefully, get it re-examined."

"So you weren't necessarily trying to solve it."

"The goal was to get it re-opened…if not for legal review, at least for scholarly examination."

"Who else knows why you were researching this cold case?"

Roz shrugged. "My thesis advisor, a librarian or two."

"You need to finish this work," House's tone was dead serious.

"Slow down. It's been months. I have to get back into the groove of where my thinking was going…and I have to get clearance to get back into the program."

He knew she was running away from what had happened, not dealing with it. House refused to be her Wilson. "I can't be your safe haven forever."

Roz didn't have a witty retort. He could be her version of 'ollie ollie oxen free', provided they both worked at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. "Recovery is about moving forward and getting beyond it." She reinforced the last part with air quotes.

House gave her the briefest nod of understanding.

"Remember the other day when you asked me why I'd walk away from my degree?"

He didn't make eye contact with her. She had been right. He was self-conscious of the limp and the ragged scar that no one ever saw.

"When people who know what happened meet up with me, or someone I've just met finds out, they act differently. It's one think if they want to discuss rehab or my prognosis to get and understanding that recovery can be possible, but it's crazy to thin that "A" I want to talk about it; "B" I don't think about anything else; and "C"…well, you know what I mean. If I'm going to be stigmatized, couldn't it be for something cool? Stomatas or fangs or something?"

House was snickering.

"I mean how am I supposed to move on when everyone I know seems to want to dwell on it in my presence?"

"You're not including me in the "everyone."

"Hmm. Your range of motion is off, you're limping. Of course you're part of the everyone."

"Excuse me for being astute. I may notice a symptom; but that doesn't mean I care."

"Gee, thanks a lot."

House smirked, his eyes alight with mirth.

"I think you care about me as a human being, but you don't care what happened to me."

"No, I just don't care."

"Apathy is a sign of depression," she deflected his deflection.

"I care about stuff that interests me. I can't concern myself with things that are irrelevant. I still have interest in music, medicine…and porn."

"Where does your interest in me lie?"

"What do you think?" House grinned lecherously.

"Not music, that's for sure." She watched House watching her. "It better not be-hey, you had better not be undressing me with your eyes."

House made his grin even more lecherous.

"I'm not an idiot. Your attentions are purely medical in nature."

Her delivery wiped the smile from his face. As much as he wanted to admit it was a purely platonic, medical interest he felt; there was also something else that attracted him to her.

"Life is about what you can glean out of it. You are the center of your own universe."

"Yes, Dr. Freud, I am anti-social, narcissistic, and display at least a dozen other traits, but it doesn't mean I have a personality disorder. And when did this become a psych eval?

"Sorry, you were beginning to bore me. I had to find something about you to keep me interested."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. From a forensic psychological standpoint you are diagnostically fascinating."

"Hmm. Now every conversation we have will be loaded with subtext that may or may not be intended."

"Nah, I just want to make sure you're not going to start the motorcycle jacket mafia and go postal at work."

"Wow, I knew I liked you! You just mixsed several metaphors that would make Cameron's head explode."

"Now that you know what I mean-"

"Don't worry. I don't want to hurt myself or anyone else. Well…almost everyone else. There are a few-"

"I get it."

"In case you haven't figured it out by my blatant use of Vicodin, I'm trying to get myself out of pain, not inflict more."

"Oh, good. Then I guess it safe to tell you my deepest, darkest secret: I'm homicidal/suicidal."

House laughed with her deadpan delivery. "That's brilliant."

"Nah, not really. When I feel hopeless because I've come across a lost cause, I think about eliminating the cause, and that depresses me more. Me putting someone out of their misery-and subsequently mine-would actually cause me more misery. Thus the downward spiral."

"At least you realize it for what it is."

"What it is, is emotional pain without relief. Although wanting to hurt yourself and wanting to die are filed under suicide-there's a big difference."

House understood what she was talking about. He had been there many times before. Emotional pain had no real relief or cure. You had to either chemically alter your state of mind or cause physical pain to make the brain focus on the more immediate issue. Ultimately you were left with physical and emotional pain-but for a brief period of time the endorphins give enough of a boost to keep you sane.

"…I have a self-preservation mechanism, I guess."

"When you were first…" House fished his mind for an appropriate word, "assaulted, were you already suffering from depression?" He sighed with frustration "If I were you, I'd just want to die."

Roz felt like she had been punched in the stomach. Should I be insulted? But then it struck her that maybe Greg House was projecting his current feeling onto her situation.

"Yeah I did feel like that at first. It's like humiliation, worthlessness, insignificance and a whole host of other emotions shuts you down. Unless you're lucky enough to find professional help to work through it-I see that smile on your face. I don't mean a professional escort. My shrink helped me to realize that it wasn't the result of my actions and was out of my control."

"How do you rationalize the second attacked?" Honestly he wasn't trying to play devil's advocate.

A sharp inhale escaped her throat. She closed her eyes and counted to ten in her head. Nothing like taking a person out at the knees. She pursed her lips, opened her eyes and looked deeply into the cobalt blue of House's eyes. "Denial ain't just a river."

If House hadn't already been resting on the couch, he swore he would have fallen down with laughter. As it was, he nearly rolled off the couch.

"What's so funny? You were there. How are you rationalizing it?" She hoped her words were stinging.

"I was at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I don't think of it that way." Roz was dejected by his nonchalance.

"You said you weren't blaming me about not having the damned dog with you for protection-not that blaming me would change how I feel about it."

House was pissed. Damn! "I think you misunderstood me."

"Just say it: it's my fault. Then you can move on."

"Wow, you are one egomaniacal S-O-B."

"Go screw yourself."

"A bit touchy, aren't we? Sounds like you want me to blame you so you can have a concurring second opinion. I don't know what messed up your head or when, but you can't seem to find the positive in anything-"

"Once again, you're channeling Dr. Freud."

"I was thinking how lucky I was to have you there. I might have been raped or killed."

House remained silent, lost in his thoughts.

"You want a drink?"

He nodded.

Roz poured three fingers of Tennessee's finest sour mash for him. She barely filled herself a snifter of Remy Martin.

House chuckled when he saw she had less than half of a shot.

"I'm not much of a drinker," she said with embarrassment. Besides, it's not wise to mix drugs and alcohol."

House reached for his Vicodin, popped a few then washed them down with the bourbon.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

House found himself wide awake at one am, pretty much due to the fact that his circadian cycles were awry ever since he came home. For the most part he slept through a lot of the daily crap he wished to avoid. Cheryl was pretty helpful considering she hadn't contracted to be his personal assistant. And that's just what House used her for. "I need more paper; sharpen my pencils; get me a drink; bring me this or that." Mother Teresa would have been at her wit's end with his night owl ways.

House was driven by facts, data and statistics-the diagnostic basics of forensics. What Roz was trying to accomplish was similar to what he did in a differential diagnosis. The only difference here was the size of the legalities and fees involved with false accusations. The wrongfully accused were never as thankful as those who were eventually diagnosed correctly.

By the time morning arrived, he was asleep with hand-drawn charts and lists littering the bed. Roz came in to collect the data and look over his interpretations. She was a tad bit disturbed at how intense his version of research had been. The man was truly gifted. He had a way of seeing things others didn't readily recognize as "symptoms". He approached the case notes using a medical assessment over the logistical approach used in law enforcement.

She saw two examples right away. House had circled several statements in various interviews. Each referred to either smells or sounds. Roz wasn't sure why there were important to House. They didn't appear to be directly related to the case itself.

His organizational chart of the constellation of evidence was also intriguing. She hadn't thought to put the puzzle together in such a way to get an encapsulated view. It was like House had devised a "Gray's Anatomy" of murder. It was a fresh, exciting look at what had become almost tedious. Roz spend the afternoon with renewed vigor.

It was dinnertime before House came out to join her in the living room. She was engulfed in the detritus of research notes and newspaper clippings. A neat stack of manila file folders seemed to be out of place amongst the chaos. House stopped at the kitchen counter to watch her work. He likened her actions to his reviewing the symptoms on a white board as his trusty overlarge tennis ball thumped against the wall. Roz tapped a pen to keep a rhythm of thought going. He hated being interrupted when he was in "thinking mode" and decided it would be detrimental to Roz's process to be so rude.

Unfortunately, as was his usual, he decided to break in. Past recollections prompted him to do it. The interruptions he suffered often proved to be springboards into that one idea that tied up the loose ends. House snuck up on her as best he could for being a loud gimp. "So what's the pile on the side?"

Either she hadn't heard him or was ignoring him.

House flanked her, heading for the manila folders. Just as he reached for them, she slapped his hand.

"Ouch!"

"Don't touch." Roz barely looked away from her work.

"Now I know what they mean when they say 'every Roz has it thorn'."

Roz finally broke away from the research to give House her best incredulous, yet irritated look.

"What?" He shrugged, faking innocence.

"My name is in no way, shape or form a derivative of rose. It means protector of horses."

"Whatever," House reached for the files again.

Roz snatched them up in her arms.

"You're withholding from me. I thought I had all of the information." House pretended to reach for them again.

"Go play your piano. Leave my stuff alone."

"You're being spiteful."

"No, I'm trying to avoid telling you I brought you a present, and it's at the piano."

House stayed put, eyeing her suspiciously. "Why would you do that?"

"Do what, bring you a gift?"

House looked over to the piano. The only thing out of place was sheet music. He looked back at her in surprise, then back at the piano. She shrugged and went back to avoiding him. House hobbled over to the ivories, gently seating himself on the bench.

He had seen compositions for two hands, even four hands and occasionally one hand, but never for just left hand. They were like some kind of urban legend for piano. House read the music, could hear it played in his head, yet he was timid when it came to actually playing it.

"Where did you find this?"

"Looked it up on the internet and got it."

"It was that easy?"

"If you know where to start looking."

House noted she was smiling slightly. He eased his left hand onto the corresponding keys and began to play. Soon he was lost in the music.

Roz moved to the kitchen with her manila folders. Listening to House playing and seeing him express himself at the piano felt like and intrusion on the man's personal space. The music lulled her into a comfortable space in her head making re-reading the files more pleasurable.

They were copies of copies of police reports-statements from people who had known the murder victim. Initially they were regarded as the garden variety accounts of the dead girl's character and habits. She wanted House to read them, but figured he'd find them boring. Now she would use his 'medical view' of the case and pull out sections where the interviewees had referred to sights, sounds or smells. Maybe one of them was actually the killer and gave him or herself away without realizing it.

"Nah," she chastised herself. "That isn't empirical evidence." Yet she hoped there was something that might link a sensory perception to a piece of evidence.

The music stopped, distracting her. But she hadn't been focused on the task at hand. At some point her thoughts had drifted away from the ugliness of crime to the beautiful music House had been making. After she had realized she had been staring at him for way too long, she averted her gaze to a blank portion of the wall in the kitchen. Now that the music was over, she couldn't remember why she was looking at it. And the fact that House was heading her way was a little unnerving.

Greg noticed she had been in some sort of reverie, staring blankly at his kitchen wall. He was as surprised as she looked when it seemed to end precisely when he stopped playing. It was awkward for him to want to approach her and thank her for bringing the music back to his hands, even if it was only one of them. She looked scared as he approached. He wondered if she could see his eagerness to connect with her at this moment, to share his gratitude.

He was right next to her and yet she didn't acknowledge his presence. She actually tried to look anywhere else but could only look down at her hands. And so Greg chose to force her to see him. He reached his hand over hers, laying it gently on the back of her right hand, leaned in closely and whispered "Thank you."

Roz froze, her heart pounding in her chest, breath catching in her throat. Is he going to kiss me? He had broken into her personal space moving right into her intimate zone. Now was not the time for flight or fright to kick in. She wanted to do neither and was surprised at herself for not pulling her hand away. His hand lingered there seemingly longer than it needed to.

House figured he had scared the crap on of her. He knew he was pretty lucky he hadn't gotten clobbered. The dog didn't even look at him suspiciously. All in all, it was a good situation. And as the saying goes: 'all good things must come to an end.' Greg proceeded to head for bed, tired and at ease for the first time in weeks.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Roz didn't return to House's apartment the next day. He didn't think much of it personally, but as the afternoon wore on, he became agitated. He was used to having someone at his beck and call during his waking hours. It was particularly annoying when he had thoughts in his head that required a sounding board.

He did the only thing that came naturally: he called Wilson.

James had a full schedule. He checked his missed call log between patients noting House had called continuously. He just didn't have the time or will to return the calls.

His phone rang again. This time he answered it. "Wilson."

"Call House," Foreman demanded.

"A little busy with patients," Wilson retorted with added emphasis.

"He's called me, Taub and Remy looking for you."

"Then it can't be an emergency."

"It's only a matter of time before Cuddy hunts you down to tell you the same thing. Call him and shut him down."

Taub and Thirteen nodded in unison as Foreman passively threatened the Head of Oncology. They all had been sitting around the conference table discussing a current case that House would have scoffed off.

"…Methotrexate…not Lupus…blah, blah, blah," Taub had given his best imitation of a cranky House, MD. Even Wilson thought it was funny.

"Once again, patients come before House's non-urgent needs." Wilson disconnected abruptly.

Eric switched off the speaker phone sighing heavily. He barely opened his mouth before the phone rang again.

Thirteen picked up using the speakerphone feature.

"Why hasn't Wilson called me back?" House was grumpier than ever.

"His hands are full," Remy offered.

"He'd rather grope breasts and tickle prostates," House added matter-of-factly.

"What could possibly be so important that we all have to hunt down Wilson?" Taub was frustrated, heading for infuriated.

"I'm lonely."

"Take a magazine into the bathroom and quit bothering Wilson."

"Oh, how to respond…. On one hand I would say: 'what works for you doesn't always work for me'; but on the other hand, it's seems you've given me permission to continually bother the three of you."

Thirteen picked up the receiver, disengaging the speaker phone function. "Unless you specifically need something, we have work to do."

"You're no fun. Roz didn't show up today." He felt a bit awkward admitting his concern.

"Did something happen?" Remy figured it was better to keep the conversation guarded. The boys were listening intently.

"Not sure. Sometimes my manliness can be overpowering."

Remy rolled her eyes. "Anything specific?" She listened as House unfolded the events of the previous day.

"Maybe I invaded her personal space."

"Possibly mixed signals. I'll make a few calls and check back."

"Who you calling," Taub teased.

"The cable company. Seems his porn channel got disconnected." With that Remy exited in search of a little privacy.

House sat on the bed, not quite sure if he should take a nap or read through the medical journals that were piling up. He reached for the New England Journal of Medicine but came away with a copy of an actual police file. He rifled through the first few pages then tossed the file aside. It would be no fun to go through and ask questions to no one in particular. Where was Roz!

It was a dismal week that followed. Roz was a continual no-show and House turned his focus to annoying Thirteen. Wilson had altogether rejected his incoming calls. Remy was the only person dumb enough to answer-every time.

Only she never had a real answer. There were lots of "uh huhs" and "okays" along with "I'm working on its." Remy was usually doing something else while placating her boss. But after the third day of dead ends, she too was starting to worry about Roz.

Cuddy knew nothing. Roz's doctors hadn't seen her. Roz didn't answer the door when Remy visited. It was a conundrum. And she didn't have time to track someone down for House. That was Lucas' job.

"No way in hell," was his response. Who could blame him. Tracking this woman had gotten him shot. That was as good a place as any to draw the line on a case.

It seemed Roz had disappeared, dog and all. Enough time had passed to file a valid missing persons report. Detective Taylor personally stopped by House's place hoping to get a better idea of what might have transpired and where he tried looking for her.

The detective went back to his office and thumbed through the notes he had from Roz's first assault. He made two phone calls before he was able to locate House's missing person. Once he got past the initial respondent's questions, Roz was handed the phone.

"What's up," she said tersely.

"I got a missing persons report on you."

"Obviously I'm not missing."

"You have some concerned friends."

"Acquaintances…maybe."

"Either way, they'd like to hear from you."

"If I wanted people to have my itinerary, I would have Twittered it."

"Fair enough. Stay safe." Taylor hung up, slightly amused. He dialed Greg House's number.

"House." Greg put down Roz's case file and took off his reading glasses.

"Detective Taylor. I'm following up on your missing person."

"And?"

"She's not missing."

House's mind formulated many questions simultaneously. Was she in jail? The morgue? On a flight to Bora Bora? How'd he find her so fast? "Where'd you find her?"

"She was never lost."

Greg shifted position, moving the phone from one ear to the other. "How can I get a message to her?"

"She's incommunicado."

"I doubt that, since you sound like you've spoken to her recently."

"She's alive and safe. That's all I'm at liberty to tell you."

House hung up, immediately distracted by this new puzzle.

"Sheryl!"

Her thundering footsteps resonated as she raced from the living room to the bedroom. "What? What's wrong?" As many times as he had shouted her name just to irritate her, this time was different.

"I'm bored."

"Every time you bellow my name, I expect you to say something mundane on my arrival. You're not getting away with that this time. Too much angst." she responded to his wounded look.

"What's do you really need."

"I don't bellow. I'm bored. And I want to go out."

"Out where! You're in no shape to go bowling." She blew the stray hairs away from her face and glared at him.

"Me and my homework have to go to school."

Sheryl knit her brows trying to figure out what he was really talking about.

"Stop making faces and help me get dressed."

An hour later they were getting out of a cab in front of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

"How did I let you talk me into this?" Sheryl dropped his backpack next to the car's tire before hoisting him out of the back seat.

"You love me. 'Nough said." House struggled to find his balance.

"You're too-"

"Good looking to be seen with you? Yes, the whole world knows it. But I'll survive the criticism by getting even."

She righted him and picked up the nap sack. "I was going to say too tall to sit in back seats."

"Oh, that too." House leaned on her more than he needed to. It was fun taking advantage of people at times.

As they walked through the sliding doors towards reception, Sheryl ushered him to a bench. "Sit."

"Woof."

One of the receptionists immediately called the Dean of Medicine. "Sheryl's returning her patient."

"What do you mean?" Cuddy rose from her seat, anxious to intercept them before they could get to her office.

"She's packed his bag and is dumping him off on a bench."

Cuddy grabbed the phone off of the top of the desk and headed towards her door-as far as the phone line would allow. "Do either of them appear to be bleeding from the head?"

Sheryl commandeered a wheelchair, returning to her patient's side. "Get in," she ordered after securing it.

"Good thinking. I'm also too tall for you to give me a piggyback ride."

"I'm not adverse to opening the elevator doors and pushing you through-whether or not the elevator has arrived."

"Thank god we're on the first floor."

"What goes up, must come down."

"You're such a tease."

"Damn, and I was trying for minx."

"They're heading for the elevators," the receptionist said with relief.

"That's one crisis averted."

Before the elevator doors closed, House shouted out: "Tell Cuddy I'll be in the Bat cave. I only want to be bothered for Sex or milk and cookies."

The doors reopened on the third floor. Sheryl ran down the hall with him. Doctor's orders. It was exhilarating. House was thinking he was getting his way. Sheryl just imagined a runaway wheelchair hitting one of the glass walls.

"Whoa!"  
>It was a close call, but she managed not to crash him into his door.<p>

"Are you trying to shred me?"

"Not exactly. Any action resulting in your death would have been acceptable."

"I love you too. Let's get inside so we can get to work."

"There you go again, using the wrong pronouns."

"But you have to write things down for me." He made sad puppy face for her.

"I'm a nurse. I went to college. Studied my ass off; got good grades."  
>"Congratulations, you're certified to wipe ass. Now I'm asking you to use your brain and help me think."<br>"You're asking me to take dictation."

"I'm asking you to assist a doctor. That's what nurses do. Without us, your kind wouldn't exist."

"And without executives, secretaries wouldn't exist."

"Right."

"So call me when you get a business degree, and I'll think about being your secretary. Until then, you're on your own." Sheryl turned away, heading for anywhere but there.

"Wait!"

Again that angst. She faced him.

"You're seriously going to leave me."

She nodded.

"But…I'm a cripple."


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

"You were mean to him."

A steaming cup of green tea was placed before her. "I know. A defense mechanism."

"But there was no perceived threat…no need for defense." The robed figure sat across from her, his hands folded in front of him. "You came here to rid yourself of the anger and guilt that overwhelms you."

"And fear, anxiety, insecurity. The list is endless."

"Are you here to find balance and inner peace, or are you running away?"

Roz cradled the mug in her hands blowing at the vapors.

"Just as I suspected. I would suggest you meditate more. Leave your papers in a different space. Center your mind on the answers you seek. Quiet the turmoil that brought you to us."

Dr. Eric Foreman entered the diagnostics office preoccupied with carrying his breakfast and coffee while reading an interesting article on neurology. It wasn't until he set the items down and turned toward the three whiteboards that had mysteriously made their way into the office space. It wasn't until he looked beyond the neat handwriting on them he realized he wasn't alone in the room. House was fast sleep in the Eames chair. A good look around the place revealed file folders and papers strewn across the desk and piled at the feet of the whiteboards.

"What in the hell are you working on," he wondered aloud.

Before he could inspect the boards more closely, Remy entered the conference room.

"Holy cow!" She was stopped short by a sea of whiteboards varying in size. Each one had very little white space left.

Taub nearly walked into the back of her. "Since when is the conference room a closet?"

"It looks like the place where whiteboards come to die." Remy's eyes were wide, taking in all of the writing.

"Guys, over here," Eric called from the adjoining office door.

Taub and Thirteen navigated the maze until they could see what Foreman was frowning at.

"Is this his idea of a joke?"

The office door opened followed by Sheryl carrying coffee. "Oh," she mumbled, suppressing a yawn. She ignored the team, walking over to House and kicking the seat of the chair jarring him awake.

Foreman braced for an explosion but found himself shocked by his boss' reaction.

"Why do you look refreshed and I feel like day-old bread?" House looked around to get his bearings.

"Because you slept on a chair. And I grabbed a shower and fresh scrubs." Sheryl zig-zagged through the awestruck Fellows heading for the desk. She opened the big red lupus textbook, snagged a vicodin and returned handing it and a cup of coffee to House.

"Breakfast of champions."

Sheryl went about her business of putting books back on shelves and packing the nap sack while the Fellows exchanged dumbfounded looks.

"Wha…what-"

Before Remy could finish her sentence Cuddy burst through the conference room door shouting, "Oh my god! Dr. Foreman are you in here?"

Eric's eyebrows headed for his hairline. He had heard Dr. Cuddy use that particular tone of voice with his boss, but he had never been on the receiving end of it. He went to the doorway to find her spinning around, drowning in a sea of whiteboards.

"In the office."

Cuddy negotiated the strange sea of white sails, expecting to find a clearing at the office-not the congestion she faced. "I came to see if your boards had been stolen too-and what do I find?"

"Don't look at me." Foreman tilted his head toward House.

"What are you doing here?"

"Sleeping. But don't worry, I'm getting ready to go home and get to work."

"Why is every whiteboard in this hospital now I your possession?"

"It's my magnetic personality."

Cuddy glowered at him.

"They held a séance - trying to reach their ancestor - the chalkboard."  
>"I want these boards cleaned and returned. Immediately!"<p>

"Not going to happen."

"And you!" Cuddy turned on Sheryl. "You allowed this to happen." "Who do you think stole the boards?"

"Not helping," Sheryl and Cuddy said in unison.

"House, go home. Sheryl, I want to see you in my office. You three, clean off these boards and have maintenance return them."

"Dr. Cuddy, please. We spent all night working on this."

"What this? It's not diagnostics, and the door distinctly reads diagnostics."

"Yes it is diagnostics," House stood defiantly, albeit uneasily.

"Cigarette butts, shoe imprints and the like are not symptoms."

"Yes they are."

"Maybe he's diagnosing a bar fight," Taub suggested.

"A murder, actually," Sheryl corrected.

"It's a whole new field: Diagnostic Forensics," House proclaimed. "The whiteboards stay."

"The department doesn't exist at this hospital, and therefore has no budget for toilet paper, let alone whiteboards."

"You'll be sorry." House reached for his wallet. He extracted his credit card, tossing it at Cuddy. "Replace the damn boards."

"Don't think I won't."

As Cuddy turned to leave, he couldn't resist getting the last word in. "Try craigslist. Don't max out my card."

"We can't work with this clutter," Taub grumbled.

"I'll help Sheryl stack them aside." Thirteen waited for the boys to leave before catching her boss' attention. "Roz?"

"This is her magnum opus."

"Are you trying to lure her back? Or are you seriously bored?"

"Like I said, diagnostic forensics."

"If you say so."

"Roz is on to something. Can't put my finger on it. Not yet. There's something missing. Once I figure that out…"

With their latest patient diagnosed and released, Remy, Taub and Foreman had their choice between the clinic or the clinic. Taub more or less happily chose the clinic just to get away from Thirteen and Foreman. There seemed to be an added tension between them lately, and he couldn't decide why. Although he surmised it had something to do with House and his "term paper".

Remy had taken a keen interest in a new kind of case: on that involved murder. "You know, I think House is on to something. But it should be called Diagnostic Forensicology." She pulled out a series of whiteboards, starting her own review.

Eric pushed aside some papers and files on the table to make room for himself. "I can't imagine why Taub would choose the clinic."

"And yet you seem right at home."

"I'm working on a paper for publication."

"Go for it. You won't bother me."

"What is it with you and House and Roz's research?"

Remy thought about it for a few minutes. "I don't know. It's like House sees brilliance and genius in something or someone and it just seems right to follow him through to the end."

"You want to be on the glory wagon." Eric continued to avoid eye contact.

"We're here to learn and grow from working with the man. Granted his approach to diagnostics is more like a map of general knowledge and he's throwing darts - trial and error. But once he has all the facts-"

"He's dead on."

"This cause is different. No body to harm with useless tests. Pure fact and deduction."

"He said something was missing."

"That's his other uncanny ability. Wish I had it."

"Don't be surprised if he asks us to dig up another body."

Remy smiled at the fond thoughts of her "Survivor" audition. Kutner was pissed that the body was buried feet first. Amber showed up late, but with coffee. Her smiled suddenly faded.

"Problem?"

"No." Not that she would tell him how both their deaths changed her. "House found out what we had to hide. He's a manipulative son-of-a-bitch. Who knows. He might decide to re-question suspects."

"That could get him killed."

"Probably."


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

A light rapping, more of a tapping interrupted House's sleep. He was going to have words with the neighbors if they didn't keep it down.

Three more taps, a little harder this time. House reached over for an extra pillow to shield his ears.

BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM.

"What's next, a jackhammer," he mumbled.

"House, you home?"

He wasn't sure if he was hearing things. It sounded like a familiar voice, but the Vicodin was messing with his aural perceptions.

It was quiet for a while. Then an indistinguishable sound registered from somewhere near the window. Hail. Hail?

"House, you in there?"

"Gawd." He pushed himself out of bed hoping there was a good reason. Greg nearly fell over backward as he faced the window and a handful of gravel pelted it. He glared down at his intruder and pointed to the front of the building.

The door opened revealing a highly perturbed Lucas. He scowled at House, who returned the look.

"Here," Lucas shoved an envelope at him. "Call off your dyke."

Greg couldn't help but crack a smile. "Lesbian, yes. Bi, yes. But a dyke?"

"She can be pretty butch when she wants to."

"She rough you up some?"

"I was pre-roughed, no thanks to you."

"I didn't shoot you."

"Yeah, anyway, I'm done on this one."

Greg took the envelope and closed the door on Lucas.

It was too late for coffee but too early for bourbon, leaving House in need of some form of liquid comfort. Sheryl wasn't due in for a couple of hours. Roz's absence left a void in 'house'-sitting that Greg wished he could sleep through. Instead he was awake trying to ignore Thirteen's question. Why was he so enrapt in Roz's research? Was it just for the puzzle? If so, why did her absence leave him with an aching void?

"An aching void? I guess it's not too early for alcohol." He tucked the envelope into his sling and headed for the liquor cabinet.

Once settled down on the sofa, he emptied the contents of the envelope on the coffee table. Two photos fell out.

House picked up the top one. It was a strange building. It looked like a cross between the botanical gardens and a basilica. The picture could easily have been used to mass produce post cards. On the flip side someone had written Zen Buddhist Temple of Greater New Jersey. What role did this building play in the overall picture?

Greg picked up the next photo. It was the same building but from a different angle; possibly later in the same day, or a different day all together-judging by the angle of the sun. Nothing immediately drew his attention, but knowing Lucas, there had to be something to it.

Nothing in the sky, on the roof or in the trees. There were windows to be looked in. But that would require a magnifying glass. The grounds yielded a few figures that looked more like trees than people. Someone was sitting on a bench looking left at something. House couldn't make it out, but it could have been a rock.

House took the discovery of a blob to be a perfect opportunity to polish off his drink and get another-along with his magnifying glass. It was easiest to bring the picture to the kitchen island, adjust the light and peer through the gadget.

At first he focused on the blob. "Animal, vegetable or mineral?"

"Not a rock. Looks like a branch coming-nope not vegetable either. A tail?"

Greg changed his focus to the person on the bench. "Was the tailed object a threat?"

He dropped the glass and stepped back. His heart beat a little faster. "Gotcha."

It was late when House rang the bell at the temple. He was ready to push his way in if he had to, but hoped being a doctor would have some pull.

The door opened revealing a robed figure with the façade of serenity plastered on his face. Yet the eyes were alert and suspicious.

"I'd like to speak to Roz Santa Lucia."

"We do not allow visitors at this late hour. Perhaps tomorrow."

"I'm a doctor. I need to discuss medical business with her," he felt around for his PPTH ID badge.

"She is meditating in the rose garden. Please come in and wait."

House, followed by Sheryl, entered and sat at a proffered bench. "I hope we get done fast. This cold ain't helping the leg any." He flexed his right knee wishing he had his right arm free to massage his thigh.

"Need a pill?" Sheryl reached for the vial in her pocket.

"Not yet. I want to be uninhibited when I rescue her."

The monk entered a section of the temple that housed the rose garden. It had been a dead end hallway converted into a greenhouse. He clanged the small gong at the doorway, alerting Roz to his presence.

She breathed deeply while unraveling from her modified lotus position.

"You have a visitor."

"A police detective?"

"A doctor. Judging by his physical condition, possibly not a very good one."

"That would be Gregory House. Never judge a book by its cover."

"So a good doctor seeks an audience with a dis-eased body and mind. A true 'house' call.

Roz couldn't help but grin. The monks were usually very stoic, but every now and then their observations were witty.

"Shall I show him in?"

Roz's expression changed.

"Ahh. He is the cause of your recent dis-ease. You are running way. From him."

If it was that evident, there would be no reason for her to continue the charade. A few moments later she could hear the thumping of House's cane on the stone floor.

He entered the greenhouse, heat and humidity enveloping him, making him forget it was winter outside. The aroma of roses was intoxicating, stirring sensual thoughts. It lingered on the soft pallet of his mouth as well. And there was something else. Something making his mouth water just a little more than usual.

Roz pretended to be meditating, but couldn't help opening one eye to see what had stopped the doctor in his tracks. She was taken aback seeing him relish the air. His head was tilted back a bit, eyes closed, nostrils open to inhale the scents in the room. His face seemed a little less lined - almost relaxed. And she could have been mistaken, but he appeared to be smiling slightly.

"I come here to meditate because of the atmosphere," Roz broke his reverie.

"There are dozen flower shops closer to home."

"This is special. Roses with an undertone of chocolate."

"It's like Valentine's day all the time here. Freaky." House bridged the distance between them.

"I'm imagining little heart shaped chocolates spiked into the dirt to feed the rose bushes." He approached a bloom and inhaled deeply.

"Cocoa mulch makes the -" Roz stood with excitement. "Holy shit!"

House half expected a ninja monk to appear and take Roz down. He looked around to see if anyone heard or was coming.

"I took a scraping from the cast of the shoe imprint. The school lab result listed cocoa mulch as one of the components."

"So the monks did it in the temple with a rosebush?" House said the first thing that came to his mind.

Roz looked at him incredulously. At least she hoped that's what he saw. Her vision went grainy, almost gray. "They found a thorn on the body."

"So the victim and the murderer may have been in the same garden. That could be-" He was going to say a coincidence, but he didn't believe in them.

"I know that's the missing link. It has to do with roses and chocolate. Now if I could only figure out why."

One step closer, House thought triumphantly. Roz's smile faded, and with it so did his. She paled, her eyes glassing over. Her right leg twitched just before she crumbled to the floor.

Natasha ended her deep medication with a few growls that turned into a tirade of barking.

House hurried to Roz's side, feeling for a pulse. Her eyes fluttered open as he was counting respirations.

"What happened?"

"I got dizzy and lost my balance."

"Uh huh? You forgot the part about being unconscious."

"No way."

Before House could do anything else, Sheryl and a troop of monks were at their side.

"Get an ambulance. She needs to go to a hospital."

"Did she hit her head?"

"It's what happened before she went down that concerns me."

Wilson sat next to his best friend in a foreign waiting room of an unfamiliar hospital. It didn't matter one bit that House was a doctor. He told them what he had witnessed and they dismissed it like the common cold.

"It's neurological. I wish I had Foreman here checking her out."

"Maybe it wasn't a myoclonic jerk. She'd been sitting for a long time. Could have been a muscle spasm."

"She was out for over thirty seconds."

"Low blood sugar?"

"Stop agreeing with these morons. I know what I saw. If she dies because of it, I'm going to sue for wrongful death."

"Whoa, hold on there fella. They're competent doctors. They're running tests."

"That's debatable," House snorted.

"And why are you so concerned? You never care about the patient, just the puzzle of diagnosing the disease."

House growled with frustration.

Wilson didn't get it at first. Then it dawned on him. "You like her."

His friend shrugged.

"You like her, like her." Wilson's eyes were now wide with surprise. "Wait, you two haven't-"

"Ew, no!"

"Well you're acting like the two of you are in a seriously relationship."

"All right. I like her. I think I maybe more than like her, like her."

"Like you like Cuddy?" James couldn't help but keep the incredulity from his voice.

"Like - aargh - if you make me say 'like' one more time, I'm going to strangle you."

"You could try," James feigned doubt well.

"It's different. Cuddy's always so unattainable. Almost aloof. Roz in on the periphery, waiting for an invite in."

"Wow, I do not see it like that at all. Are you sure you're not imagining things?"

"I'm not delusional about the way I feel when I don't have access to her."

"When you kiss her, are there fireworks?"

"I haven't kissed her."


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

While Cuddy released House back to work, Roz was kept home by her doctor. This, of course, immediately put House in a bad mood. He limped heavily, scowling at anyone who dared to look his way as he walked the halls of PPTH.

Luckily he was excused from Clinic duty, allowing him to focus on the whiteboards. Greg was eager to have Roz see the bulk of her work available at a glance. He was excited yet anxious. Her delayed return was an ill omen. What if she didn't come back at all?

The phone was in his hand and he was dialing before he knew what he was going to say.

"What." Roz's voice was firm but held a hint of tiredness.

"Do you always answer the phone that way?"

"It scares away the telemarketers and most nosy doctors."

"So you got an extra week off. This place must annoy you more than it does me."

"Not really. Just a bit under the weather."

Greg straightened up in his chair. "No dizziness or fainting, I hope."

She didn't respond.

"You still there?"

"Yeah."

"There's something I've been wanting to show you."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

House's grin quickly turned to a frown. He voice still didn't resonate with its usual vibrancy. "Why don't you stop by. I promise I won't let Cuddy put you to work.

More dead air.

"Roz?"

"See ya around, House."

Greg put the receiver down absently. He didn't remember grabbing the oversized tennis ball or how long he had been lost in thought before Thirteen entered.

"That's a pretty serious look you got going on there."

He ignored her.

"Well, I brought some files up from the ER. Cuddy's orders. Although you'd be bored silly by them." She took the seat across from him. "They actually amuse me."

Still nothing.

"Six months ago we had an influx of people who were sleeping during the day, sensitive to sunlight and craved raw meat. They insisted they were vampires. We sent them for psychiatric consults. Turns out they all had one environmental influence in common: HBO.

"Now one of them has come back claiming that what he had all along was purpura.

"Cuddy thinks you'd be perfect for scaring the purpura right out of him."

House blinked several times, clearing his mind. "Let me guess. He just finished a marathon viewing of six seasons of TV's hottest medical drama."

Remy nodded.

"No surprise psych didn't pick up on him being a hypochondriac. They can't even pick their noses."

"So are you going to have us scare him?"

"Let Taub do it. Maybe the guy'll claim he's got dwarfism next."

"Hmm."

"Hmm, what."

"You seem distracted, so I'll let the Taub non-witticism go."

"I just talked to Roz. She didn't sound okay."

"She has her own doctors."

"That doesn't make them good doctors."

"There's no hidden disease that only you can diagnose."

"She's not interested in her research."

"She's depressed. Give her a break."

"It's infuriating."

"This murder investigation's not going anywhere. She's not trying to find the culprit. There's no ticking clock."

"What if the depression is a symptom and not the diagnosis?"

"Munchausen's by proxy."

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't want her to be sick."

"Okay. What do you want from her?" There was a devious sparkle in her eyes.

"Wipe that smirk off your face."

"Just ask her out and be done with it."

"It's not like that. I'm worried that I'll have to give up this puzzle when another case comes along."

"I'm not buying that."

"I'm not selling anything."

"Get a life, House." Remy left with the ER files.

Greg waited for her to disappear before he opened a drawer to retrieve his wallet. Dr. O'Connor's card was tucked away in a hidden space along with a hundred dollar bill folded into an origami star. The phone rang a few times before she picked up.

"What can I do for you?"

"Your patient is depressed."

"More than normal?"

"It appears that way. Loss of interest in daily activities. Fatigue. Social avoidance."

"Are you still abusing the pain pills?"

House knit his brow in confusion, then realized she thought he was talking about himself. "Yes, but I'm not the patient we're talking about."

"Ahh. And who might we be referring to?"

"You know exactly who."

"And you know I can't talk about her with you."

"What can you tell me?"

O'Connor sighed heavily. "You're an overwhelming and intimidating presence."

"I frighten you. Check."

"Not me."

"Oh." He got it, but he was still mystified by the possibility.

"She's working on it. Give her space and time."

"I might need some help with that."

"We should talk about it at my office. I feel the billable hours about to rack up."

"I'll set something up soon."

"Better sooner than later. Goodbye Dr. House."

Two hang ups before he could get the last words in. This wasn't his day.

Greg grabbed his cane heading for the conference room. In the past his obsessions were usually well-founded culminating in a successful end to a tricky diagnosis. Oftentimes in the process he was able to manipulate people's relationships to his advantage. The boost to his self-esteem was always a great high, even though it was short lived. He just went in search of another puzzle.

The writing on the whiteboards wiped away easily, erasing any trace of what had been there. The act of rubbing out the words was started with resentful jerks but eventually became broad sweeping strokes, as if he were removing memories from his mind with a special watercolor paint.

There were a lot of boards. So much to delete. The words no longer meant anything; the cleansing was in the repetition, lulling him to a numbing complacency.

Taub pushed through the conference room doors with aggravation. "Okay, don't answer your damn phone. At least answer your damn pager, for god sakes. We've got a patient in the ER."

House stopped what he was doing to calmly look toward his flunky. "Let them run all the usual tests before they're stumped. Then, when they can't figure it out, I'll step in and ask you, Foreman, and Thirteen to run the same test all over again."

"Cuddy said that whomever finds you should, and I quote 'drag him by his hair screaming and cursing if you have to.'"

"I can take you with my cane tied be-"

Taub's phone emitted "Darth Vader's March", much to House's amusement. "Taub…in the conference room…Here, Cuddy wants to talk to you."

"I gotta get that ring tone." House snatched the phone away from Taub. "What…on my way."

He hustled as fast has him bum leg would let him, pushing his way past nurses and orderlies. The exam room curtain was thrust aside without concern. Greg tossed his cane aside, grabbed Cuddy's stethoscope from her neck and went to work.

Roz lay there unconscious while House listened to her chest. He palpated various organs before checking her pupils. Something seemed off.

"Does she look a little yellow to anyone else?"

"Not really," Cuddy said with confusion.

"There some rebound tenderness at the liver."

"We don't know what she might have fallen on when she passed out."

Before House could argue, Roz's heart rate began to fall causing alarms to go off. They looked up at the monitors.

"Paddles," Cuddy shouted.

Remy check her airway before bagging her.

Foreman prepped the defibrillator with the conductive gel before handing them to Cuddy.

"Clear!"

Everyone stepped back as electric current crossed Roz's heart. Just as quickly they stepped back into check vitals.

Foreman kept his eye on the monitor. "She's back in sinus rhythm."

"Liver function tests and a drug panel." House grabbed his cane with the intent on leaving only to be stopped by his boss.

"What's going on?"

"Not here," he mumbled.

"My office. Five minutes."

Cuddy entered her office to find House stretched out on her couch. "Talk to me. Why did you order the drug panel."

House's arm was draped over his brow making it convenient for him to ignore her.

"Answer me. What do you know?"

"I did this to her."

"Not everything is about you, House."

"I'm missing some Vicodin."

"You're an addict. You take Vicodin in your sleep."

"I'm not just missing a few. I'm missing a lot."

"How long?"

"I talked to her about it when I first noticed. Told her it needed to stop."

"Are you sure it wasn't Sheryl or one of the other nurses?"

"I thought she was just snagging a few to get through the rough nights."

Cuddy sat by his feet putting a comforting hand on his shins. "She could have gotten them from her own doctor as well."

"Maybe. It still doesn't change things."


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

House sat at Roz's bedside feeling useless yet still needing to be in close proximity-at least for a little while. He chose not to share Dr. O'Connor's information with Wilson or even Cuddy. No doubt they would scheme together over a way to exclude him from the room.

His guilt was lessened when Foreman brought him the lab results.

"Elevated liver functions tests, but not out of top range parameters. No opiates, anabolic steroids or other illicit substances found. We ran a heavy metal tox screen with negative results." Foreman recognized House's idea bulb go on over his head. "And Remy did an hepatic ultrasound. No sign of clots, lesions or blockages."

Greg got up to stretch his legs by pacing the room. "We should do a trans-esophageal echo to make sure the plumbing's functioning properly. If there's nothing there, move onto a carotid Doppler and an MRI with contrast."

"One test at a time."

"I don't want to find out what killed her. The sooner we get it under control…"

"Get some rest. You're not doing yourself any favors."

The six am shift change ushered in a flurry of activities on the floor. CNAs went from patient to patient recording vitals. Roz was immediately awakened by the rising pressure in the BP cuff. She looked around, bleary-eyed and confused.

"Where's my dog?"

"No dogs allowed here."

"Where's here?" The more she awoke, the more things became confused.

"Let me get your doctor." The nursing assistant walked over to the next bed. She poked the occupant's bicep. "Dr. House, you're patient's awake."

House snorted, tried to roll over, felt his balance go and caught himself before taking a header on the floor.

"Nice recovery," the aide quipped.

"Let me see," House grabbed the chart from the girl. Moments later he was hovering over his patient.

"What happened?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing."

"My chest hurts."

"That would be the defibrillator's fault."

"Did I fall on it?"

House wasn't sure if she was making a joke. "Dr. Foreman's going to come in shortly and give you a full neurological work-up. If you pass your exams I'll work on getting that mutt of yours visiting privileges.

Roz spent her time waiting dozing in and out of sleep. Something wasn't right-being in the hospital confirmed it, but she couldn't quite verbalize it. The closest she could equate it to was being overmedicated on Nyquil. Not drunk, but kind of like her head was disconnected from her body.

When Foreman woke her, she was definitely disoriented. Roz seemed to stare right through him. He gave her a few moments to fully awaken.

"Do you remember me?"

"Vaguely."

"You're thoughts a little fuzzy?"

"Not fuzzy. Numb. It's like I can't access my brain.

Foreman carried on with cognitive tests followed by a physical test of neurological functions.

House, in the meantime, used Thirteen to track down Natasha's whereabouts, while he, himself, took a more comfortable nap on Wilson's couch.

"You look well," Wilson tried to keep the scowl off his face. It was never a good idea to start the day with a dose of vile House.

His friend just ignored the remark, not giving an indication of wanting to make witty repartee.

"No come back?" Wilson was always wary when House maintained a quiet exterior. It could only mean a storm was brewing just beneath. Past experience told him it was easier to lance the surface rather than let the situation fester.

"Anything I can help with?"

"My patient has DIC."

"Diagnosis complete, what's the problem?"

"DIC is a symptom. Infection throwing clots is the diagnosis."

"At the threat of repeating myself-"

"We haven't found the infection yet."

"Makes sense." Wilson was trying to figure the backwards logic in the case.

"The infection has spread to the brain."

They both looked over to the door where Taub had just come through.

"Foreman's looking for you."

"Why didn't he find me himself?"

"He's doing a lumbar puncture. Patient's exhibiting signs of transverse myelitis."

"That means the infection's spreading." House leaped from the couch, much to the astonishment of his friend and colleague. "Gotta find it quick."


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

House gimped down the hall clutching onto Natasha's harness. The damn dog seemed to know what he needed. Since the broken arm made use of the cane on the right impossible, the dog took its place on the left. It actually wasn't so bad, just a little awkward to get used to.

The blinds were drawn in Roz's room. She had spent a portion of her day in the MRI tube. The team reviewed the results and settled on a course of treatment. She was resting comfortably. A perfect opportunity for House to burst in with his surprise.

He crept into the room instead, noting Natasha could barely keep her glee intact. House unlatched the harness, letting the dog creep onto the chair and lean over to her master. Natasha licked her, almost cautiously.

Roz's eyes sprang open. A wide smile split her face. "My baby!"

The dog crawled onto the bed nestling in for the long haul.

"Thank you."

"A girl and her dog shouldn't be separated…or something like that."

"Where did this infection come from?"

"Straight to the point. I suppose you'll want a real answer."

"Could I have avoided it?"

"The answer or the infection, 'cause it's not like someone sneezed on you."

"Then how?"

House found himself unwilling to come right out and say it. He searched his vocabulary for the best word choices. "Staph infections aren't uncommon as surgical complications." He turned toward the glass wall as if to stare at something in the hallway.

"My last surgery was over six months ago."

"Your resistance was high. The disease lay dormant. Once your immune system was stressed, it woke up."

"What stressed my immune system?"

"Nearly getting strangled didn't help." His snarkiness reared its ugly head. "Sorry, I usually don't interact with my patients - for just this reason."

"I'm kind of used to you by now."

House couldn't contain a snort of derision. "I've heard otherwise."

"What do you mean?"

"I know I intimidate you," he said looking over his shoulder at her.

It was Roz's turn to scoff at House. "Sounds like whomever's been whispering in your ear has their facts wrong. I'm pretty sure I intimidate you."

He couldn't help but grin. "I'll tell you what I found to be intimidating. You don't realize it, but this disease affected your thought processes. I stood by and watched a sharp mind become muddled.

"Sometimes I think losing a limb or being paralyzed would be a reason to not want to live anymore. But I know there is something worse. This fucked up leg of mine brings me more grief and aggravation on a daily basis, yet what scares me the most is not losing the remaining function, but losing my ability to do my job.

"I'm the best at what I do. The pain sometimes clouds my judgment. I always know a few Vicodin later and that cloud evaporates. I'm afraid that one day that cloud will settle in for good, no matter what I do to change the weather."

"Is this liquid refreshment dripping into my veins my Vicodin?"

"No." He saw her optimism fade. "It's better."

"How so?"

"After a few cocktails you should be well on your way to kicking this infection's hiney…so, á votre santé ." House raised an imaginary glass in toast.

Roz had nothing to say. The information she had just been given didn't quite sink in yet. She knew he was brilliant, the best doctor to figure out what was going on and why, but needing him was far more scary than she wanted to admit.

"You look beat. Try to relax and get some sleep. One of my flunkies will be in to check on you later."

"You going home?"

"Up to my office. I've got some studying to do."

"You look more exhausted than I feel."

"Good, that means I'm achieving my goals." House left without looking back. Something had been nagging at his brain since the team had theorized the nature of Roz's infection. Foreman ran the MRI of her leg, immediately sending the information to her surgeon at Princeton General before giving House the news. It wasn't meant to dis his boss, but it pissed House off none-the-less.

The scan was fascinating just for the sheer insight into seeing the transplanted muscle. The least he could do was familiarize himself with the minutiae. It looked normal. Especially when he placed the scan of his own mangled thigh next to it.

He couldn't help but wonder if it had been an option at the time of the infarction if he would have taken it. All he knew for sure was amputation of any degree was not acceptable. And yet the two people he trusted the most didn't adhere to his medical wishes. It left more than a hole in his leg. Some days it was like the usual kind of Swiss cheese with the big holes everyone immediately visualized, but most days it was akin to Lorraine Swiss with its more homogenized bubbles. Funny how something with so many empty spaces could appear more solid.

Rubbing the cramped thigh did little to ease the pain. It was more of a distraction-making pressure in the area increasing the pain so that when he was done, he'd feel less by comparison to the self-torture. House couldn't even remember if he had taken any Vicodin since leaving Roz's room. Her MRI entranced him like a Rorschach ink blot-the deeper he looked, the more detail he could recognize.

The other three muscles of his thigh contracted simultaneously. He hissed through his teeth performing a strange Lamaze-type ritual. The spasm was merciless. House kneaded his fist into his thigh rhythmically, hoping for relief.

Wilson stood outside the office watching his friend tormented by a pain that didn't respond to even the most potent of opiates. Just how much of that pain was physically induced, there was no way of telling.

"Why are you standing out here?" Remy came up and stood next to Wilson in an attempt to get his point of view.

"He's in inconsolable pain. When he lashes out in that state, he doesn't hold back." Wilson noted the disbelief on her fact. "Believe me, Remy, nothing is sacred. On a 'good'", and he used finger quotes, "day he sensors himself using snide remarks and a cocky attitude. When he's like this he'll cut you to the core. You'll bleed out emotionally, hate him for a while then realize it for what it is: a defense mechanism, not a personal criticism. But by then it'll be too late and a piece of you seems to have withered away and died."

"It doesn't seem to have affected you much." Thirteen stepped aside and through the office doors.

"House, you gotta stop making it worse." She put her hand over his.

He looked up at her with menacing eyes. "One day you're going to want to start smacking your head against a wall-it'll probably be sooner than you hope-and you won't want anyone to stop you."

"That's why I've got to stop you know. I think you'd enjoy watching me self-destruct. And with the dementia I won't realize it, so I'll need you around to be an impartial observer."

House let her help him over to the Eames chair. He had to hand it to her. She held up pretty well against his first attack. Even managed to get a dig in.

"How many Vicodin have you taken?"

"Not enough," he shook the bottle.

Remy snatched them away.

"Hey, gimme them!"

"I've got something better."

She left the room returning moments later with a syringe.

"Where do you want it?"

House undid his pants, rolling onto his side and waited for it. "Yeow!"

Thirteen was smirking. She hadn't had that much fun with her boss since she took a liver biopsy against his will. "How ya getting home?"

"I figure you could ride the bike and I'd hang on…nice and tight."

Remy smiled coyly. "But what if I have an episode, lose my mind or decide to start banging my head on the pavement? Who would write my epitaph?"

At least that's what he thought she said. Who knows? Morphine was named for the god of Sleep.

"You survived," Wilson had watched the scenario, awestruck by Remy's courage and House's lack of castigation.

"If all he can do is threaten me with the inevitable, what kind of power is that?"

"He goes after what he thinks is your worst fear or embarrassment."

"He did."

"And you didn't react." Wilson couldn't understand it. Why was he and Cuddy always torn to shreds but not Remy? Had House gone soft on her?"

Remy politely waited for him to catch on. It didn't seem like it was going to happen too quickly.

"People can only hurt you if you let them." She left him standing where she had initially found him.

His body clock told him it was sometime in the middle of the night. The opiate had worked its magic enough to make waking life bearable again. Out of habit he wanted to massage the thigh before moving, but it might exacerbate the problem. His outstretched palm threatened to clamp over the chasm of ragged scar tissue. It was tempting, but unnecessary. Instead, he relaxed, foregoing movement altogether.

It was his brain that wanted exercise, not the body. Sweet Morpheus had a way with making the synapses fire so the mind could explore without constraints. Several times in his life he knew had and dreamt the meaning of the universe only to wake up with no thoughts to grasp at.

The meaning of the 'verse or life or whatever it was that drove existence into being and sustaining itself was pretty much irrelevant to him. The puzzles of the here and now were his meaning and universe. Without them-well, he couldn't conceive an existence consisting of trudging through life without desire to engage his brain in some form of quantum theory. The syncratic mind is rarely at rest, and more oft the cause of his restlessness.

House drifted back to sleep, his thoughts focused on his latest patient. Roz's DIC was induced by an infection. Was the source of the infection really dormant for six months? Was it a result of the surgery as he had told her? It made sense. The second attack exacerbated the situation and brought the beast out of slumber. Still making sense. Some thing was tugging his thoughts in the opposite direction…as if he knew the current treatment was somehow ineffective.

A shadow appeared outside the office door. House feigned sleep but kept an eye partially open to watch. The door opened effortlessly allowing the shadow to slip in. Immediately his mind went to Wilson.

Nothing happened for a few moments. The shadow figure leaned against the desk just looking in House's direction.

House was betrayed by his own sigh.

"I know you're not asleep."

Both blue eyes were now staring into the darkness. "Who are you?"

"Who do you want me to be?"

"The janitor."

"Sorry, not tonight."

House was approaching nervous. He had no idea why anyone would come to his office in the middle of the night.

"For a curious man, you're awfully quiet."

"If you're not going to tell me who you are, then at least tell me what you want."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"I'm not a cat."

"I suppose you subscribed to that whole 'satisfaction' thing."

"Depends on the outcome." House shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"The only one getting any satisfaction tonight will be me." The figure stood up to its full stature.

He was more stately than he initially appeared. In fact, Greg found himself intimidated as his mind put the figure of his father in its place.

"I'm not a ghost."

"I don't believe in ghosts."

The figure came threateningly close. "People lie."

"Everybody lies."

"I don't lie."

"Everybody lies."

"I'm not everybody."

House scoffed. "Right, you're Universal Truth."

"What is happening is a ruse."

"Is this some sort of joke?"

"Deception. Bait and Switch. Subterfuge."

"Who sent you?"

"I come of my own volition."

"What do you want from me?"

The figure moved closer. "I need you to step back."

"Can't, not in my nature."

The shadow figure was close enough to reach out and touch. Yet something didn't seem right. This got his heart racing. It was fight or flight time, and Greg knew he had no chance in hell of running away. His whole body was numb from the drug Thirteen had given him.

Surreal and ethereal, the figure leaned over him, face to face. Something in its hand, heading for his head. No time for action, only reaction.

The coffee cup went flying out of Wilson's hand, knocked aside by hands reaching out for his neck. Wilson didn't have time to think as his friend's long fingers wrapped around his neck, thumbs pressing into his windpipe.

White lights popped and flashed in his vision. He couldn't breathe, let alone call for help. He tried futilely to pull the hands away.

Taub entered the conference room, briefly glancing over to see if he was able to escape House's abuse on arriving early. He was thoroughly sick and tired of his relationship with his wife being the underlying cause of every move he made - good or bad. His initial reaction of Wilson straddling House was one of amusement and thoughts of blackmail. He had to admit it, if he had the energy, he would have pulled out his cell phone and filmed it. But once his boss found out, he'd be tortured. House had too much on him as it was. No amount of pleading would keep his boss from approaching Rachel.

In an instant his perceptions changed. Wilson's arms fell limp to his sides, his head lolling backwards as he collapsed onto House.

Taub ran into House's office, concerned about Wilson's condition and why House wasn't helping. "Son-of-a…" He reached for House's arms, trying to force his hands away from Wilson's throat. "I need some help in here!"


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Wilson tried to suppress weak coughing in order to save his throat from more pain. Thirteen was examining him for possible neurological and hypoxic deficiencies as well as for soft tissue damage.

"He's finally lost it," James said in a hoarse whisper.

"You probably shouldn't talk. Besides, there's not much to say. He's always been unstable."

"You're not completely shocked by the fact that he tried to kill me?"

"Shh, save your throat."

Wilson gave her his most curious expression.

"If you expect House to do something off the wall and he doesn't, it's a good day. When he does do something whacked-out - even for him - it can't be a surprise."

"Par for the course."

"Something like that."

"And Taub…"

"Thank god he showed up when he did."

"It was weird…I could swear he used the Vulcan death grip on House."

"I did." Taub pushed past the curtain. "It _was _weird. Like Kutner possessed me when all my other techniques failed."

Remy smiled coyly. "Good thing you listed to his sci-fi babblings."

"Who'd of thunk it? So how's our patient."

"I'll be fine."

"How's House?" Remy asked with nonchalance.

"Asleep for now. Cuddy wants to talk to you before he wakes up."

Before Taub could say anything else, Cuddy's clacking heels echoed through the ER. Within seconds the curtain was shoved aside and the Dean of Medicine's worried face appeared.

"I'm fine," Wilson grunted.

"He is," Remy concurred. "A little bruised, but otherwise…"

"What did you do to make him want to strangle you?"

"I offered him a cup of coffee."

"Was it decaf?"

"Why do you always think I provoke him?"

"Are you sure you didn't sneak up on him and scare him?"

Wilson frowned.

"You did."

"I wasn't thinking. It's not like-"

"Like what? Anybody could walk in, even in broad daylight, and try to kill him?"

"If he was asleep, we could presume he could have been dreaming or that even while resting, his mind was in a state of hyper vigilance."

"House rarely sleeps well, and when he does, it's hardly ever a deep sleep."

"Maybe he was hallucinating." Remy cocked her eyebrows at Wilson.

"And why would he be hallucinating," Cuddy's voice was threatening.

"I totally forgot about that." Wilson's face became deadly serious. "It could explain everything."

"What's going on." The angry administrator voice took over.

Wilson and Thirteen were behaving like they were the only people in the room.

"He's had it before. Has he ever reacted this way?"

"No, but the strain he's been under - I mean that's what I assume exacerbated the pain to begin with."

Cuddy looked to Taub for an explanation.

He shrugged. "Sounds like he had more than a few Vicodin."

"I only used a minimal dose of morphine," Dr. Hadley confessed.

Cuddy was about to tear into her when Wilson interrupted. "He was in unbearable pain. The Vicodin wasn't enough."

"Then why didn't _you_ do something about it."

Wilson hung his head in shame. "I wasn't in the mood to have him berate me for being able-bodied."

"Great, just great."

House slowly felt himself coming to life. He wasn't ready. Morpheus' gifts were just out of his grasp. A little while longer, a little deeper in sleep and he could hook a finger around the events that tried so hard to elude him. But his body betrayed him, first sound returning to his ears, then light filtering through his eyelids.

The need to open his eyes was accompanied by an irritating itch on his chin. However, he couldn't quite get his hand to function. Now he was fully awake.

"Welcome back," Foreman immediately blinded him with his penlight.

"How bad is it?" A million thoughts were running through House's mind trying to piece together whatever event landed him in the hospital and unable to move.

"You nearly killed Wilson, but you'll both survive." Cuddy stepped up from behind Foreman.

"Can't remember…can't move."

"Just a side effect of sedation and the restraints."

House closed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts. His mind seemed cluttered with cobwebs and darkness. As he searched his thoughts, the shadow figure emerged.

Foreman and Cuddy jumped into action as the monitor's wailing alarms signaled increased heart beat and blood pressure.

"Call a code!" Cuddy moved House into a prone position, readying to defibrillate him.

"Wait!" Forman had his stethoscope in position . "He's sats aren't dropping."

House's eyes snapped open when the cold metal touched his chest. He fought against his restraints to defend himself from his attacker. But it was futile. He screamed in abject fear.

Foreman and Cuddy looked to each other, dumbstruck, at House's unseeing eyes.

"Lorazapam, stat!"

A nurse pulled a syringe off the crash cart. Just as quickly as it was handed to Foreman, the content was injected into the patient.

House's screams died away, but the horrors continued to plague his brain.

Foreman stared at his boss. "Was that from physical pain?"

"I'm not sure." Cuddy pushed away the hair from her eyes with an unsteady hand. Get an MRI of his leg and an f-MRI of the pain center in his brain."

"This may be something more. We might need a-"

"Run the MRI's first. Let's rule out the physical before calling in mental back-up."

Foreman nodded curtly.

"Why are you so afraid of me?"

"Self-preservation. Fear can be a good thing."

"Bullshit. And you know it."

"Do I?"

"Don't you?"

The scene changed, and with it light and sound became evident - like someone turned on the world. His auditory senses were assaulted with a thrum of moving water at a great force. Behind it were voices raised in amusement, some of them screaming with laughter. Greg shielded his eyes, using his hand as a visor.

He was on a street, at the cul-de-sac where a row of like houses lined one side of the lane. The other side was barren dirt, desert-like and out of place with the sound of rushing water so close by.

Compelled to enter the first domicile, he followed the signs. At first they were arrows leading him down a maze of corridors. Vaguely aware of other entities, he passed them as they brushed by, voices hushed in whispers, drown out by the rush of water. A dead end forced him to backtrack out a door and onto the sidewalk.

Looking over his shoulder back at the beginning, it was clear the buildings were somehow attached, their corridors forming the labyrinth. From this angle they looked less like houses and more like a series of trailers. Greg headed across the street to a glass-walled building, that for all intents and purposes, appeared to be a bank of some sort.

It seemed vital to get a package that was now in his hands into the bank. And yet he instinctively knew two things: one, he would not get through the metal detector at the door; and two, even if he did, the security guard had orders to stop him.

The only other option was to go beyond the building to the next location. Twenty yards ahead made all the difference. A four lane bridge crossed a vast gorge leading to a promised land. As he stepped closer he could see things he hadn't before. Neon lights. Tall buildings. Signs of civilization. The gushing water was thunderous in his ears - punctuated by the screams of delight and fear.

The left side of his world fell away as Greg stood at the center of the bridge. In the center of the gorge was a ferris wheel - physically incapable in its design and location. Like a large paddle wheel it seemed driven by the whirling eddies at the bottom of the water chute. Squeals of laughter and fear rode on the spume of tumbling water.

He looked to where he presumed the people cued up to ride the giant wheel. Jutting out over the chasm was a reflecting pool to the hotel/casino on the left bank. Folks were gazing into the deep water. A few had decided to wade in and take their chances, for at the bottom he could see the whirlpool around the drain which would surely suck them down and drown them. And he knew just how each body would surface in the rapids, only to cascade over the giant waterfall the bridge straddled.

His eyes were drawn further to a distance place where an in-ground swimming pool rose above all other sources of water. Greg's eyes kept roaming from the falls to the reflecting pool, to the swimming pool and back. There was a terrible sense of urgency as children were sucked down into the drain and no one seemed to notice or care. Those bodies took on the faces of the people he cared about. Greg was running toward the reflecting pool, shouting for someone - anyone to take action. He felt as if his own life was being sucked into the abyss.

The shadow figure tapped him on the shoulder and the world fell into darkness. His body floated through the emptiness, buffeted by a distant voice repeatedly calling out: "perspective".

A hand snatched him by the shoulder into wakefulness. He awoke with a start.

"Good morning."

He squinted trying to make sense of the person talking to him.

Lisa saw the confusion on his face and stepped closer. She grabbed his hand in both of hers. "House, I'm here."

Finally, a voice he recognized. He couldn't clearly see her, but he recognized her décolletage. It brought a smile to his lips. House closed his eyes and signed contently. As long as she was there he could be at ease. She would keep him safe.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

"Hey!" House struggled against his restraints, pissed off for being strapped to a bed.

"Somebody get in here and unleash me!" _This is one joke that isn't going to end well, he thought_. "Not funny!" 

Sheryl entered, all serious. "Stop yelling before they send up security." 

"You're in on this. Who put you up to it, Wilson?" 

"Put me up to what?"

"This," his voice held the edge of panic. A little bondage could be fun, but not in this situation. 

Sheryl looked around to reassure herself that no one else was in the room. "This," she said, arms gesturing to all things in the vicinity, "is my job. This is a hospital, I am a nurse, and you are a patient." 

"Two out of three. Not bad." 

"Wanna try for best of seven?" 

"Just untie me." 

"No can do." She kept her distance. 

"Joke's gone far enough." 

"No joke." 

"You're in on this with Wilson." 

"When I transferred to psych ward I figured I'd be rid of you." 

"Okay, I get it. Humility. Lesson learned. I've been humbled. Moving on." 

"I gotta get a new job." 

House sighed impatiently. "Undo these restraints now," he growled through gritted teeth. 

Sheryl was spared a response by Dr. Cuddy's arrival. 

"Stop giving the staff a hard time," she ordered as she entered.

Before he knew it, she was shining a damn light in his eyes. "I wouldn't have to if you'd just leave me alone." 

"What do you remember?" 

She was all business. It didn't seem right. "What do you mean?" 

"What's the last thing you remember?" 

"Aside from the crazy nightmares-" 

"You remember your dreams?" 

"Just bits and pieces. Oh wait…now I understand. Thirteen." 

"What about her?" 

"She set me up." 

"Paranoia is normal." 

"I'm not paranoid." He was insistent but could see Cuddy didn't believe him. 

"House, this is not a prank. You're sick. You've been here for two days." 

"Ha ha, not funny. No way I lost 48 hours." 

"You were sedated for a few and slept through to now." 

"I don't sleep." His voice betrayed a little bit of longing mixed with disdain. 

"Well you did. We've got an EEG to prove it." 

"I'm not going to believe any of this." 

"The stress you've been under, the sleep deprivation…too much Vicodin, and then Dr. Hadley giving you a little something extra threw your system into chaos." 

"That explains the trippy dreams - but not why I'm shackled to the bed. My wrists aren't slashed and I'm pretty sure I haven't put a bullet through my brain. I'm not a threat to myself." 

"Never said you were." 

House was contemplative. What in the hell happened? The two main reasons patients were restrained were if they were a threat to themselves or someone else. That meant… 

Cuddy saw the realization dawn on his face and nodded. 

_What have I done? And to whom? _House searched his thoughts. 

"I think you should talk with Dr. O'Connor," Cuddy was hesitant. She knew House would scoff at the suggestion. 

Instead he nodded absently. 

A little while later Greg awoke from sleep to the unmistakable sound of a thumping cane. He looked over to his right where Roz was sitting, his cane between her legs as she bounced it up and down. 

"Snuck out to see how you're doing." 

"Just peachy." 

"Figured as much. Wish I could spring you." 

"Me too." 

Roz sat back in the chair. The cane was gone, replaced by the large tennis ball that she bounced against the wall. 

"You're mocking me." 

She threw the ball away in anger. "No. If I were mocking you I'd be rambling on about what an idiot my patient is and asking you if you've been faithful to Cuddy." 

"I'm not out of my mind because I have neurosyphillis or any other STD." 

"Why would I have an STD?" 

"You wouldn't." Greg was flabbergasted. 

"No, YOU wouldn't." 

"See, you ARE mocking me." 

"That's your perspective." With that Roz disintegrated right in front of his eyes. 

"Cuddy!" 

"He's calling for you in his sleep. I'm not sure if we should wake him." 

Lisa frowned into the phone. "Are you sure he's not being a pain in the ass and pretending to be asleep?" Sure House had been hospitalized before from just about everything major she could think of, but he never seemed so out of it - like his mind and body were in different realities. She barely heard what the nurse was saying. "Let him sleep."

Minutes later she was heading into House's office where Foreman had set up temporary residence. 

Upon her entrance he looked over from the computer screen. "What's up?" 

Cuddy paced nervously, wringing her hands. "Could we have overlooked a pathological reason for his delirium?" 

"He's had a CT, MRI, EEG, blood cultures, a tox screen and everything else that could give us a diagnosis." Foreman's voice was definitive, yet he too hoped there'd be an epiphany of some sort. 

Cuddy stopped pacing long enough to ask her next question. "Have you checked for STDs?" 

"Of course." Forman noted her agitation. "Twice." 

"No nasty germs to cause his symptoms?" 

"Not even one brain eating prion. Face it, this is a medication exacerbated psychological issue." 

"I don't know what's worse: hoping he's being poisoned by something or knowing it's psychological." 

Eric stood, frowning. "Knowing House, he'd rather be poisoned." 

"I wish I could tell him he was." 

When House did finally wake up, he was exhausted. He barely had the strength to turn his head to see the figure sitting in the chair next to the bed. He expected to see Cuddy and was confused to find Thirteen napping, precariously curled up like a cat. 

"Sleeping beauty." 

Remy stirred, realized where she was and snapped to attention. "Hey."

"If you don't want to get caught sleeping on the job, I suggest Room Two in the Clinic. The table's quite comfy." 

"Wouldn't want to encroach on your fortress of solitude." 

"Is it still the same day it was the last time I was awake?" _Again with damn penlight.  
><em>

Remy was more or less giving herself a reason to be there. 

"I've either had a stroke, have a brain tumor or everyone's purposely trying to blind me." 

"At least you know who you are." 

"I know I've got a bunch of idiots for a Team." 

"You don't know what day it is or why you're here. You don't think that's a problem?" 

"The problem is: you dosed me with something that made me forget and put me here. As far as I'm concerned, I'm the victim." 

"And Wilson?" 

"Foreman said something about that. Still don't know what he's talking about." 

"What do you remember?" 

"He said I nearly killed Wilson. It's a bit vague if you ask me. I assume he was being metaphorical. After all, Wilson couldn't survive without me." 

Remy tried not to smile. "I meant what's the last thing you remember after I gave you the shot?" 

"I went to sleep." 

"Then what?" 

"I woke up here." 

"Nothing else?" 

"Just some bits and pieces of dreams." 

"Anything violent or-" 

_How did she know? _"Look Dr. Freud, the last time I checked, your CV didn't include a PhD in Clinical Psychology." 

"Nice deflection. Means I struck a nerve." 

"Not a neurologist either - and dating a neurologist doesn't count." 

"Double deflection. Nice." 

"Don't you have clinic duty or something that's not directly related to torturing me?" 

"But I'm having so much fun." 

"Go have fun at someone else's expense." 

Remy bowed in obeisance. "As you wish. She headed for the door, but couldn't resist getting the last word in. "Since you're all tied up with no place to go, I suggest you focus on the dreams. Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something." She winked at him conspiratorially. 

Although he would never admit it to Thirteen, she had a point. Greg closed his eyes and searched his recent memory bank for the nightmares. He had been dozing, lucidly dreaming, when someone knocked on the glass doors before entering. He opened one eye just enough to see who it was. 

"Greg, it's Dr. O'Connor. Time to wake up and confront reality." Lynn dropped her briefcase next to the chair then stepped to the bedside so he could see her clearly. 

_This can't be good. They think I'm crazy! _He didn't say anything, just scowled. She stepped down to the bottom of the bed and pulled the covers aside to get to the restraints. Within seconds he was free to stretch his legs. Greg waited impatiently for her to free his hands. 

She registered his disappointment. "Sorry, not ready for any repeat performances." 

"Can't repeat a performance if you don't remember it . Are we really sure whatever it was happened?" 

"There are at least two witnesses." She tucked him back under the covers. 

"If they were anyone who knows me personally, then it's a ru-" _Why did I chose that word?  
><em>

"You think this is some kind of subterfuge?" 

House's eyes widened with fear.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Cuddy strode into the conference room where House's team was assembled. Foreman was the first meet her eyes. She tried to communicate with him silently. But in that moment of silence Drs. Taub and Hadley had come to attention.

"I think I need to sit down," Cuddy took the head seat.

"What's the verdict?" Eric was ready for just about anything.

"He's coming back to the office tomorrow."

Well, almost anything. "The guy's off his rocker. We can't have him endangering patients-" 

"Or us," Taub piped up.

Cuddy held up her hands in a placating gesture. "I said he was returning to the office, not necessarily to work. Dr. Foreman will still be in charge."

"And we'll be at House's mercy."

"Is this your idea of a suicide watch," Thirteen questioned.

"He's not suicidal-or homicidal. He had a full psychiatric review. The doctor suggested he get back on a routine as soon as possible."

"So, in other words, just another day at the office," 8Eric said snidely.

"No. We'll be moving in a small desk and chair for Roz. She's been temporarily re-assigned as his assistant."

"Let me guess, she's going to type in the web address and he'll watch the porn."

"The white boards that still have writing on them will go into the office too. She's going to work on her thesis simultaneously."

Taub was paying full attention now. "So they're coming back to work but not working at their jobs."

"I'd rather have them here not working than melting down. In the meantime, let them work through their issues while you guys run the department."

Dr. Hadley raised her hand like an obedient schoolgirl. "If our assistance is requested to aid in their quest…"

"Up to you whether you want to get involved. All of you play nice, or I'll have you swabbing crotches in the clinic."

House dressed in two-day old clothes. At least they didn't reek as bad as he suspected they would. He was pulling his rumpled dress shirt on when Wilson appeared outside the door. Greg glanced away pretending not to see him.

Wilson did the same. He walked a few steps away before deciding whether or not to confront his friend. _Was House capable of remorse?_ He had apologized before, but never without provocation. James needed this apology to mean something. And therein lay his conundrum. In this situation House wasn't responsible for his actions. And James knew it and still expected an apology. No way House would step up and do what he expected.

House could feel Wilson's hesitation. His own awkwardness made it all the more easy to avoid the situation. The problem was that James was his go-to person, the only real family he had. And for perhaps the first time ever, he had alienated him without wanting to.

The door opened while his back was to it. Greg turned expecting to see Wilson displaying some sort of psychic pain in his eyes. Instead he got Roz.

"What are you doing here?" The tone was accusatory, the intent was not.

"Came to see a friend…thought I'd pop in and see you too."

The faintest hint of a smile stretched his lips. "Did you get tested for STD's after you were raped?"

"That's a bit blunt."

"I'll take that as a no."

"Why, are you interested in bumping uglies with me? 'Cause I'm not sure you meet my standards."

"I'm not the one who's been with a hostile foreign country's heat seeking moisture missile."

"Just because it was hostile and foreign doesn't mean third world. The plague is non-discriminatory-even the classiest of professionals can transmit it. Has your rat been tested lately?"

"On a regular basis. What about you?"

"I was tested. It was negative."

"You should get tested again."

"Why? Do you think-" She wasn't playing anymore.

"Just a hunch."

"You and Wilson at odds?"

"You might say that."

"You and me?" She took a seat, moving his cane to between her legs where she dribbled it like a basketball.

He turned slowly. "What do you mean?" He snatched the cane out of her hands. "Stop yanking my cane."

"Are we at odds? You okay with me working in your office? You know, those kinds of things."

"Do I have a choice?" He reached down to scratch Natasha's ears.

"There's always a choice. We both know we're at our best when we have a routine to stick to."

"So you're going to hold me to some sort of schedule?"

"Operative words: some sort."

A nurse came in to discharge him.

"Can we walk you out?"

"Suit yourself."


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Roz set her things down on her makeshift desk. It was 8:30. No sign of House. She peered behind many of the white boards to make sure while Natasha nestled under the table/desk.

She was entranced by the notes on the boards. She grabbed a notepad and started making assumptions. She hadn't felt this alive in a long time. There was only one hurdle to overcome, and she hoped House would help her.

Dr. Hadley opened the door between the conference room and the office. "Coffee's on, if you want some."

"Thanks." Roz joined her, a little hesitant to cross the threshold into what Dr. Cuddy referred to as 'Doctor Land'.

"It's safe. No heavy duty diagnostics happening yet."

"What time does House usually make it in?"

"Anytime between ten and three."

"So much for keeping a schedule." Roz grabbed a mug and thanked Remy before heading back. She spent the better part of the morning combing through their combined notes.

House arrived around ten thirty, abruptly stopping just inside the office door. He surveyed the room, stunned by how much was taken over by Roz. Hopefully there was enough room for his nap sack and cane. The piles of files cropping up every few feet were like land mines.

Roz saw him react. It was hard not to. With each obstacle of files, he glared at her.

"I'd appreciate it if you could at least leave me a clear path to my desk," he huffed while leaping over a particularly skewed stack that blocked his ingress to his chair.

"Take it up with Cuddy."

"Cuddy says I've got to put up with your stuff."

"It's not my stuff you're hopping over."

"Then whose files are they?"

"You're behind on your dictation. I'm supposed to transcribe your tapes as you finish them."

House rolled his eyes. "Don't hold your breath."

"So if you're not going to drone on about procedures and treatments, can I bounce some thoughts your way?"

"Give me a second so I can delete my e:mails." House breezed through the message list before finally clicking 'delete all'. "Finished. Bounce away."

"The last congruent thought we had was of chocolate and roses."

"Yep."

"I made a scraping from the cast of the shoe imprint found at the scene. I have a friend at the college lab who will run it through the mass spectrometer."

"What's the hold-up?"

"He won't do it until my thesis advisor signs off on it."

"I thought you were accepted back into the program."

"The professor thinks I may be mentally unstable causing a bias in my research."

House stopped what he was doing. "You're going to stand for that?"

"I've got O'Connor on it. I'm also going to have to interview with a shrink over at Princeton General."

"It sounds a bit hokey to me."

"Doesn't really matter," she shrugged. I can always submit my research as an independent scholar."

"But you won't get the PhuD."

"How relevant is that anyway?"

He could tell she was trying not to let it bother her.

"So I won't teach, won't be able to get my dream job…"

She wouldn't look at him. Greg realized the whole exercise of getting her back on schedule could be futile. He knew what step he was going to take next.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

"Thank you for meeting with us, Dr. House."

Greg was sitting at a small round table in the Dean of Criminal Justice's office on the campus of Princeton University. He had been greeted by three other men upon arrival, shaking each of their hands before being led to the table. All the while he focused on keeping his expression neutral. He could feel their elitism oozing out to meet his own. His, naturally, rejected theirs.

"Dr. House, we would like to start by saying we agree with the statements you've made about Ms. Alonza. She is an outstanding scholar."

Still fighting to keep himself in check, Greg kept his back straight and his eyes focused on the Dean. "How many medical opinions will you be needing before she'll be allowed to formally finish her thesis?"

"You should realize, Dr. House, that mixing subjective opinion with facts can lead to a serious bias that destroys the veracity of the work."

"I often find that having a bias can guide one down a path that leads to truth."

The youngest of the three professors snorted, garnering derisive looks from his colleagues. He immediately cleared his throat. "I beg your pardon, Dr. House, but it is well known that you carry the prejudice that 'everybody lies'."

"I rest my case," House said smugly.

"How so?"

"My bias is that I don't believe my patients because they lie. If I didn't stick to that conviction, I would not be able to effectively reach a diagnosis. It's what they are not willing to tell me that's at the root-" Greg abruptly stood. He had reached an epiphany forcing him from his seat. If it weren't for the damn leg, he'd have run from the office. As it were, he just got up and left without so much as a word or look.

Greg threw his office door open, the look of pure satisfaction on his face. It was startling enough to elicit a growl from Natasha.

"Settle down girl," Roz chided the dog while looking eagerly to House. "You look like the cat that swallowed the canary." She was hoping he was bringing news of her re-instatement.

"You are not going to believe this." House hobbled past her desk, hurling his backpack towards his chair.

"Hurry up and tell me before one of us explodes with the untold news."

"You are so not going to believe this."

"Uh, can't make a determination unless you speak up."

"They were ready for me. At least they thought they were ready."

"Just spit it out already! Am I back in?" Roz's face was eager with anticipation.

"Nope." House was smirking like an evil fool.

Roz was crestfallen.

"Better. I believe I have uncovered another clue-"

She tried to be enthused by his revelation, but she wasn't exactly looking for a new clue to decipher. "Add it to the pile," she gestured to the stacks on her desk.

"Everybody lies." Greg stared at her like it was the magical phrase to explain the meaning of the universe.

After a few moments of daunting silence, Roz decided to play along. "And that helps me how?"

"Everybody lies; therefore, everyone has something to hide." While I was meeting with your thesis advisor, he was adamant that you were now biased in your research. I explained to him how a bias can help look at the truth in a different way. Then it hit me. He doesn't want you to continue. He can no longer hide behind the lie of claiming bias, because I was able to disprove his theory."

More silence.

"Do you follow me?"

"At a distance."

"You have come close to a truth he does not want revealed."

"Great," Roz snorted while slamming her hand on the desk. "A conspiracy theory." She through her hands in the air dramatically before dropping her forehead to the desk.

"Not a conspiracy theory. Just a cover-up. He's guilty of something - whether he has knowledge of the crime he's concealing or he's protecting himself."

"You can't seriously think he killed the girl. The police investigated everyone thoroughly. Alibis, affairs, all kinds of dirty laundry."

"Your professor is a leading authority in forensics. You don't think he knows how to cover his tracks - or someone else's? He could easily mislead the detectives to draw attention away from the perpetrator."

"You really have a problem trusting people, don't you?"

"Especially with that whole 'lying' thing we all do."

"And yet you expect me to trust you?"

"Well, I mean…come on. What do I have to gain from making it up?"

Roz rested her chin in her hands. "I'm betting some perverse pleasure from sending me on a wild goose chase."

"It only seems like you're running around like a chicken with your head cut off because you've had a series of pitfalls and distractions placed in your path."

"The only distraction is the stalker. Everything else is coincidental."

"Random chaos is not a valid excuse, or haven't you seen the original Jurassic Park movie? Chaos Theory is predictability and probability."

"Well thank you Dr. Ian Malcolm for that lesson in math. Or is it physics?"

The point is, you got too close to solving a cold case. Someone tried to shut you up." At this juncture House pulled out a file from his nap sack, tossing it in front of Roz. "Your professor insists you're too biased to proceed because you had suffered a sexual assault-just like the crime you were researching.

"Maybe victim zero was also too close to a truth and was killed-either accidentally or unintentionally, in order to keep her quiet.

"You were supposed to be scared silent, in the very least."

"But I sort of was," Roz swallowed hard.

"When you didn't fully commit to quitting-"

"A second attempt."

"They got some DNA off of me. Apparently he's a spitter. There were no matches in any of the data bases."

"But you have a theory." She was reading his eyes. They seemed a little more cobalt blue when he was intellectually aroused.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

House and Roz sequestered themselves at House's apartment over the weekend. The time at PPTH had been highly tense as a new patient arrived, keeping House distracted from helping Roz, although he did have moments of brilliance, whereby he'd pop his head into the office and drop a gem of thought on her.

Roz collected these ideas in a journal she bought just for "House-Induced" ideas. She had spent much of their time apart writing about him: how he thought; why he did things "his way"; his quirkiness-but most of all about his distrust of people and keen understanding of human nature. She felt a deep admiration for him that confused her, for when he was absent from her surroundings, she felt a deep sense of loss. And loss made her melancholic.

Greg saw how she brightened when he entered the room. He figured it was because she always seemed to have something new to share with him. Deep down he felt bad that he was unable to return her enthusiasm with as much gusto, but he was just too tired after wrapping his brain around the latest test or treatment results. It wasn't easy dividing his thoughts equally between the current case and Roz's thesis work. Most nights he was popping extra Vicodin just to help with sedating his mind. The look of disappointment in Roz's eyes on those less enthusiastic days wasn't helping either of their spirits.

Their time sequestered renewed the vigor of their investigation. Together they reconstructed a timeline using, of all things, House's living room wall. There was no white board large enough to contain the data. They tried stringing a series of boards together back in the conference room, but that didn't work.

Roz had an idea. After a few minutes on line she found what she was looking for. Within the hour House had chauffeured her to the nearest Staples to purchase white static cling dry erase sheets. They immediately returned home to 221 B Baker Street to commence the bizarre paper hanging session.

Hours later they had created what looked like the world's largest grade school project. The timeline bisected the wall horizontally. Ground zero was the time the body was found. Each incident from then on, up to and including the dual assault on Roz and House was ticked off and documented to the right. Events and alibis gleaned from various statements made to police filled up the left side.

"We've got an awful lot of information on events leading up to the murder, and then absolutely nothing until you start looking into the files. Why is that?" House paced around the living room trying to work out a cramp he had gotten while crouching down to write at the lower level.

"Usually there are a lot of gaps. This seems almost too well laid out."

"Cover all the bases and no one has to go digging for more answers."

"What do you find most disturbing about the pre-murder part?"

Greg stopped pacing just long enough to read over what he had already committed to memory. "It doesn't seem like anybody was trying to hide the things they would normally do their damnedest to conceal."

"Are you talking about the affair between the professor and the roommate?"

"That's a huge part of it. What if the only reason they divulged the information was to divert attention away from one or both of them?

"The affair is their alibi. But what if the alibi is actually the motive?"

"The dead girl had been seeing someone at the same time. She was also a student of the professor's."

"Maybe he was double dipping."

Roz grabbed her journal and penned their theories.

"Could be she found out about the roommate."

"Or the roommate found out about her."

"Or the dearly departed wanted revenge and blackmailed the married professor."

"You really don't like the guy, do you?"

"He was able to nip that whole side of the investigation in the bud. Put the kybosh on further questioning before the police could even think of what to ask."

"Damn," Roz uttered in awe. "But it's only a theory. We have no proof."

"It's just a matter of time. All we have to do is move to the next significant event in the time line."

"It's pretty much bland for two decades."

"Ah, but you see how we discovered information on what happened prior to the murder."

"Uh, the events are unlinked because they are more than likely-"

"Ah, ah, ah," House waggled his finger hat her. "Let me posit some questions here before we go dismissing the missing links."

Roz sighed heavily.

Greg took a seat on the couch, motioning for Roz to join him. They sat facing each other. He reached over taking her hands in his. At first she didn't look him in the eyes, but Greg gently lifted her chin before taking her hand back. "You don't want to see a connection for three reasons. The first is that you look up to and respect your teacher. You can't conceive that he is capable of illegal things. The second is that you really don't want to have to relive what happened that night. And no matter how inconceivable what I'm about to say is for you, you are in no way at fault for the events that provoked the assault. And that is someone you know and possibly respect set you up to be assaulted-perhaps even murdered."

The tears were falling before he could come to the natural conclusion. She needed to hear it, and House was right-she did not want to make that one connection that she believed would destroy her faith in humanity. Roz leaned forward, crying hot tears of humility, frustration and failure into his chest. Her racking sobs caused his body to shudder as well.

Nothing needed to be said as he held her, comforted her in his own awkward way. He felt a deep sadness for Roz as if his proscribed treatment lobotomized the last vestiges of innocence she desperately clung to. Emotions welled up inside him, threatening to reveal themselves - expressions he never let anyone see and never intended to show except to his own face in the mirror.

He was able to thwart the displays of weakness by shoring up his mind with intellectualizations of revenge and his own warped sense of justice. Greg set his mind to the puzzle of filling the gaps between then and now.

Roz felt his body tense in places and figured she had encroached longer on his personal space than he was comfortable with. She pulled back, nearly pushing him away by the chest.

"What's wrong?" His face held concern, but he made no attempt to keep her from putting space between them.

"You tensed up."

Greg's eyes darted side to side suspiciously. "Uh, I was trying to suppress some flatulence."

"I should go." Roz glanced at the clock in the kitchen.

"It's nearly two am. I'm not letting you leave."

"Fine, I'll bunk on the floor with the dog."

"No way. You take the bed, I'll sleep on the couch."

"Uh, uh, you're leg's already killing you. I'll take the couch."

"So you'd rather be in pain in the morning." Greg gave her his most exaggerated disbelieving look.

"Let's just agree that neither one of us wants to be in pain."

"Since neither one of us can be completely pain free, we might as well both take the bed."

Shock blossomed on both of their faces.

"I mean it's a big bed," Greg started back pedaling. "You can sleep on one side, I'll sleep on the other. It's almost like being in a different room."

Roz's shock dissolved into mirth. House was actually kind of cute when he stuck his foot in his mouth. Especially since his face was still displaying signs of shock.

"You want me to sleep with you?"

His eyes nearly popped out of the sockets. "Not sleep with me, just in the same bed. You can sleep under the covers. I'll sleep on top."

"Relax. Relax!"

"I am relaxed."

"Then why does it look like you're going to have a stroke?"

"Aw Jesus," Greg could feel the heat rising up his neck to his face. "I'm going to bed. I'll be on top of the covers. You do what you want." With that he got up and hobbled his way to the bedroom as fast as he could.

Roz looked over to Natasha, who had been following their interactions since they had both taken a seat on the couch. "And he thinks I'm the messed up one." She got up and took a few steps before falling into the coffee table.

House came bounding out of the bedroom with just a t-shirt and his jockey shorts on. "What happened?" He was helping her up before she could realize what had occurred.

"I was doing a little sleepwalking when the table jumped out in front of me."

"Let me check you out."

"I'm fine," she snarled, pushing him away.

"You're tired, come to bed."

"I'll just sleep here," she patted the couch cushions. "Nice and comfy." Roz didn't want him to know she didn't think she could walk to the bedroom. She proceeded to make herself comfortable with a throw pillow and an afghan from the back of the couch.

"Suit yourself. But the offer remains open."

Hours later neither one of them had been able to sleep; each tortured by the pains of their afflictions. Greg feigned sleep as Roz made her way down the hall. Minutes later she crawled into the bed, taking a look at the sleeping form lying on the other side.

House propped himself up on his elbow. "I'm awake."

"Sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be. I hardly sleep. You okay?"

"Your couch sucks."

"Vicodin's on the night table. Help yourself." Greg rolled over and settled in to listen while Roz dosed herself. From his own experience he could hear how many pills left the bottle. He probably should have said something, but who was he to talk?


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

House awoke to an unfamiliar feeling. He was spooning a warm, breathing body. Then he remembered there was a woman in his bed. Sure there was a sheet between them to prevent total body contact. He wasn't sure who initiated the closeness, but neither one of them seemed to mind. A self-satisfied grin stretched his lips. He couldn't resist snuggling a little closer.

And then it happened, an unusual sensation squirmed along his thigh - and it wasn't 'Little Greg'. House leaped from the bed with a manly shriek. The only ready solution to the undulating object his mind could formulate was: snake.

From the floor he peered up onto the mattress and was met by two amber eyes looking back at him. "Damn dog," his hissed with relief. "Who said you could sleep in my bed?"

Natasha inched forward and licked his face.

"Get off, you brat." Greg eased himself to his feet, expecting to find Roz smirking. But she was fast asleep.

She was still sleeping when he finished showering and making coffee. Natasha was pretty anxious to get outside, so he made a bargain with her. He led her to the most primo patch of grass in return for her not dragging him down the front stoop.

Roz was still asleep. Greg had to check on her. Two Vicodin were tolerable for his habit. But for her? The more he thought about it, the faster he moved toward the bedroom. He checked her breathing and pulse. Both seemed normal.

"Roz, time to wake up." Greg shook her gently. When she didn't stir, a twinge of panic gripped him. He rocked her a little harder. Nothing.

"Aw crap." He reached for his phone dialing quickly.

Wilson had just settled into lunch at Cuddy's. He couldn't remember the last time he had spent quality time with his friend and her daughter. Rachel had progressed from infancy to toddlerhood, and her new found world of make-believe was a refreshing change from his professional life.

When he checked his phone for the third time, James realized there was no getting rid of House. Somehow he always found himself in the middle of a power play between House and Cuddy. Oftentimes he felt like the pawn-child in an ugly divorce.

"What." James tone held contempt.

"I need you."

"I'm busy. I can stop by later, around sixish."

"I need you like twenty minutes ago."

"Then you can wait another few hours."

House was running out of patience and tact. "I need you here. Now. It's a matter of life and death."

"Get the cable company to deal with it. I'm busy."

"I think she OD'd on Vicodin."

Wilson checked to area to see if Cuddy was in earshot. "House, if you'd have OD'd on Vicodin, you wouldn't be able to call me."

Greg was pacing nervously. "Not me, Roz."

"What was Roz doing with your Vicodin?" James lowered his voice in case Cuddy could hear him.

"She slept over - never mind that, just get over here."

"Call an ambulance. I'll meet you at the ER."

House nodded into the phone.

"Wilson met the ambulance as it entered the ER bay. "How is she?" 

"She stable," one of the paramedics started rambling on about BP and pulse. Wilson ignored him, looking beyond the gurney to House.

"It's not what we thought. Two Vicodin doesn't lead to fever and a coma. I need the team."

Cameron pushed her way past the patient's entourage before she realized it was House and Wilson. "What are you guys doing here on your day off?"

"Friend of ours," House teased. "We don't know what happened. Found her like this. Didn't know what to do."

Cameron turned her focus on the patient. "House, this is your assistant. What did you do to her?"

"I'd like to say we had some wild sex and it blew her mind, but I promised her I'd never tell."

By the amount of deflecting House was perpetrating, Cameron knew he had guilty knowledge. She was performing the basic diagnostic tests done on everyone who entered the ER when a thought struck her. "Her doctors are at General. Why did you bring her here?"

House turned away giving Wilson a chance to step up. "Because here he can explain why her tox screen would show high levels of Vicodin, and nobody would be surprised."

"House, you know better!" Cameron glared at him.

"It's not like I forced them down her throat."

"Quite frankly, I'm surprised you shared at all," Wilson snorted.

House spun around. "She fell over the coffee table and was in pain. What was I supposed to do, let her suffer? It's not like I don't know what it feels like to live that way."

"Are you suggesting I don't know what it's like?" Wilson's face was a mix of surprise and anger.

"I'm saying you don't live with it day after day, month after month until you see years of agony stacked up behind you and more ahead."

"I get it, House. The last thing you want is for her to be in chronic pain."

"And yet she is."

"You didn't inflict it upon her."

"I didn't inflict my own either."

Cameron stepped between them. "If you two boys are done fighting, there's something you should see."


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

House and the team sat in the conference room, each doing a little research in to Roz's unique case. House and Foreman were comparing her post implant MRI with the one taken earlier that day. Remy was reading the journal article written by Dr. Barnes pertaining to Roz's surgical success. Taub was writing symptoms and possible diagnoses on the whiteboard. Before any of them could comment, their beepers went off like a symphony. House's fellows ran from the room figuring he'd catch up. But Greg didn't attempt to leave. He hung his head in defeat.

"TPH," Foreman yelled as Thirteen began the intubation process. He administered the clot busting drug and waited for signs of relief. Her O2 sats climbed, but not enough. Roz's lungs couldn't function normally. The alarm started blaring again. Her heart rhythms were all over the place on the monitor.

"Congestive heart failure. Push 10 milligrams Lasix I.V." Foreman watched the monitors as Taub administered the diuretic.

Taub disposed of the syringe and watched the monitor as well. As Roz's heart rate returned to normal, he glanced down at her urine collection bag. "Guys, you need to see this."

"It's tea colored." Remy was surprised, not having seen this particular phenomenon before.

"House knew what this all meant," Foreman said solemnly. "The transplanted muscle is dying. The rejection process is killing her."

When the team returned to the conference room, House wasn't there. The whiteboard stood prominently in the center of the room. On it was written:

INFECTION THROWING CLOTS

MUSCLE TRANSPLANT REJECTION

WHERE IS THE INFECTIN COMING FROM?

"I'll check blood cultures," Taub offered.

"That might take a while. She's been on immunosuppressant therapy. The common cold could be killing her."

"What's this?" Eric walked up to the whiteboard where an enveloped was taped. He opened it. The paper inside said: CHECK FOR STDS.

"Where do you think he went?" Remy sidled up next to him to read the paper.

Cuddy's office was the logical place. House, no doubt, wanted to do something, but his approach would be more than likely 'off the wall'. James knocked lightly before entering.

"Glad you're here." Cuddy stood,House stayed seated, focused on the phone that had been placed before him.

"What can I do?" He walked up to House, who continued to ignore everything but the phone. James looked to Cuddy for a clue.

"We're waiting on Dr. Barnes to return our call."

"The last I checked, she was too weak to be transferred. Half of the Board hates him almost as much as they despise House. I doubt they'll grant him temporary privileges."

"Chase can do whatever needs to be done," House said dully.

"We're waiting to find out if she has a health care proxy or any directives."

"We don't have much time," Greg mumbled.

"Why wait at all?" Wilson thought that was the answer House needed. "We took an oath to do no harm. Doing nothing is harming her."

Cuddy walked around the desk to stand behind House and put her hands on his shoulders. "Watching the phone won't make it ring any faster." She, of all people, understood the dilemma he was facing.

"Have Chase schedule an OR. We'll remove the infected tissue."

"And the rest?"

"Once I know her wishes-"

"Her wishes may not be viable at this point."

"We'll know more when Chase goes in." House stood defiantly. "If Dr. Asshole calls back, tell him forget it. You snooze, you lose."

Within the hour Roz was rolled into an OR. House stood in the amphitheater waiting for Chase and a host of other surgeons to begin the process that would drastically change her life. He was leaning his forehead on his arm against the glass when Foreman came in.

"We got the STD test results. You were right."

House snatched the piece of paper out of his hands. _"Perfect."_

"It doesn't help very much now, aside from treating the infection."

"It helps in ways you can't imagine."

Their conversation was interrupted by Chase's voice over the intercom. "House, there's too much necrotic tissue." He signaled thumbs down.

Greg sighed heavily. "Do what you can. Try to salvage enough for a decent prosthesis." He turned to Foreman. "As soon as you can, put her on dialysis - flush out the toxins and immunosuppressant before you start treatment for the STD."

He left Foreman standing there, stunned.


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

Roz was rolled into ICU where Greg had been waiting. He stood by, watching as her frail body was connected to monitors and various tubing was checked. She'd be a sleep a while longer - once the anesthesia had a chance to wear off, they'd be able to evaluate her condition.

A myriad of emotions threatened to cave in his chest. Frustration, guilt, despair all mixed with empathy. Every time he let himself remember waking up after what Stacey had allowed, his being felt like it wanted to come crashing through his ribs. Greg took deep breaths in those moments for fear rage and anxiety would leak out. He scooted a chair next to her bed before popping a couple of Vicodin and taking her hand.

Cuddy and Wilson watched from the Nurses' Station.

"He really cares about her." There was a wistfulness to Lisa's tone.

"He does. There's something about her that speaks to him," Wilson concurred.

"He loves her."

Wilson thought he heard a hint of jealousy. "I don't know about that, but she does bring out a gentler side of him."

He knew what she was thinking because he felt it too. House had walled himself off from the rest of humanity since the infarction. He had let two people in. Another he had shoved across a bridge, then burned it. Medically speaking they were like the Three Muskateers. House's relationship with Roz was a potential threat to that.

"Would it be so bad?"

"For him to have a partner? No. Just the opposite."

"They why are we worried?"

Eight hours later House was pacing the ICU corridor trying to work out a cramp in his thigh. Each circuit brought him back to Roz's door. He stood and watched for as long as the pain would allow before throwing down the gauntlet again. He didn't want to chance her waking up to the loss without anyone there to explain it.

And yet sleeping beauty refused to wake. There was no prince charming to give her love's true kiss. Just a cantankerous old fool who thought _she_ could show _him_ how to live again. Instead, she was dragged down to his level somewhere between purgatory and hell.

After two days of waiting and wondering, Greg finally conceded to Wilson. He would stand vigil while House did some necessary things. What he wanted most was to follow up on some ideas he had pertaining to the murder case. He felt he at least owed it to Roz to carry on.

And yet the moment his head touched a pillow, he was asleep. He hadn't meant to lie back on the bed, but her scent was there, luring him to the sheets.

Dawn's first light was peeking through the blinds leaving rays of sunshine to fall on his face. The brightness seeped through his eyelids causing him to wake. First he looked at the alarm clock, then felt for his cell phone to see if he had missed a call. _No news is good news_, he thought.

Greg popped a few Vicodin before rising. His leg ached. Only a hot bath would help him get ready for the day.

He soaked in the tub for a half hour - until his fingers and toes were sufficiently pruned. The ache was still there but tolerable. Now a cup of coffee and a few more Vicodin would have him right as rain.

The phone rang just as he was heading out the door.


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

"She's coming out of it," Foreman extubated her, replacing the apparatus with a nasal cannula.

Roz's eyes fluttered as if her lids forgot how to work. Swallowing was a little difficult, but that was coming back to her too. She looked up into half recognizable, concerned faces, unfocused and dazed.

Foreman was in the midst of administering some basic neurological tests when House entered. "How's she doing?"

"Failing spectacularly. We need an MRI of her brain."

House muscled his way past to the Team to have her to himself. He grabbed her hand, but she didn't respond. He looked into her eyes. She looked at him without actually seeing him. "I know you're in there. Keep hanging on. We're working on getting you better."

As Greg stepped away, his usual scowl returned. He was afraid they had waited too long to treat. If they couldn't get the infection under control, her heart would be next.

It was as if Foreman was reading his mood and mind. "The antibiotics we've been giving her don't cross the blood/brain barrier."

"When the MRI confirms infection, drill a hole in her head."

Greg was angry. And when he was angry, he usually did stupid things. He rode his motorcycle out to the suburbs, splitting lanes and weaving through traffic, not caring who he pissed off or what might happen to him. He was mad and looking to lay blame.

His mind raced along with the engine and the bike until he reached a swank neighborhood. Row upon row of mini estates stretched on to denote a definite change in financial status, not to mention social class. He made close to what these folks were pulling in, but he didn't feel the need to be as pretentious. He had realized early on in life that the more most people had, the more they wanted.

With the engine off, House rolled over to an intercom on an expansive wrought iron gate. He pressed the button, not sure what he was going to say.

"Can I help you?"

"Doctor Gregory House to see Doctor Langston Phipps."

The intercom buzzed before the large gate began to swing open. House re-started the bike and revved it a few time before riding up to the house.

A woman, Mrs. Doctor Phipps he assumed, greeted him congenially. She looked him over as he walked up the steps. "He's in the back garden having tea. I hope it won't be too much for you to traipse through the hallway, out the back, across the patio and down the path to the rose garden."

House stopped abruptly. "I didn't know he was a fancier of roses."

"Growing roses has been his hobby for over thirty years. They're his pride and joy."

"You don't say." House strode forward with renewed purpose, cane thumping ominously against the tiled floor.

By the time he reached the garden, his leg would have normally been aching, but not today. His mind was pre-occupied.

"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

Phipps looked up in surprise. "Dr. House, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He motioned for his colleague to have a seat.

"Beautiful flowers. Do you fertilize with Miraclegro?" House eased himself into a chair.

The professor smiled politely. "I use only cocoa mulch. I get big, beautiful blooms without the back breaking work."

"So that's the secret. I'll have to remember that."

Phipps folded up the paper he was reading. "What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"I have rather upsetting news. Miss Alonza will not be able to finish her thesis after all." Greg swore he could see the man's tension ease away.

"That's too bad. We were hoping that she might get the help she needed before trying to resume. The end was in sight."

"I'm sure she would be pleased to hear that."

"Can I enquire as to why she's decided to forego her Phd?"

House stood. "I'm sorry, doctor-patient confidentiality."

"You didn't come all the way here to tell me something you could have said over the phone or put in writing."

Greg had gotten all the information he needed just by visiting. He forgot he wanted a little vengeance. "Roz is dying."

"What do you mean?" Phipps was on his feet ready to pursue the doctor for the cause.

"I mean dead. Deceased." Greg started walking away.

"Oh, that's a shame."

Both men headed up the path toward the house. Greg kept his head down so the professor wouldn't see that he was thinking. About half way up the path House noticed footprints in and around the edges of the dirt. Something struck him odd about them. Without thinking, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

"Something wrong?"

"Thought I had a call." House stepped over to a bush full of blooms. "Would you mind if I took some photos? The Dean of Medicine at Plainsboro loves roses."

"By all means."

House flipped his phone open and immediately took two pictures of the ground. "Oops, I'll never get used to this as a camera." He took a few photos and continued on his ways.

They talked of trivial things across the patio and down the hall until House noted a concert grand piano in one of the side rooms. He was transformed by the Steinway's beauty.

"Do you play?"

The professor sighed contently. "No. It's just a show piece."

Greg worked hard at keeping his face neutral and his hands from wrapping around the idiot's neck. He just kept telling himself he had yet another reason for hating this guy.

They shook hands at the door, and House proceeded to head for his motorcycle. At the bottom of the stairs he turned back.

"Oh, Professor, just one question. Is it possible to receive your doctorate posthumously? You see, I'd like to take Roz's work and publish it. I find it quite revealing."

Greg smiled as Phipps paled.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45

With the new course of antibiotics Roz was finally starting to respond to treatment. Brief neurological evaluations between sedation helped determine cognitive functioning. Her pain levels were too great not to keep her sedated, and House wanted to be the one to deliver the news.

Cuddy and Wilson ganged up on him when he returned from his errand, and begged him to go home and get some sleep. So he let Wilson drop him off at the apartment. But once inside, it was useless to try to rest. The research was everywhere. All he could think about was Roz and solving the crime - and if he got someone to blame in the process - more power to him.

He had slept. Not because he wanted to, but because his body needed to. Greg awoke in the middle of the living room on the floor, surrounded by the research and cuddled up with a bottle of Maker's Mark. Okay, so it hadn't been restful sleep and it wasn't the best situation for his leg, but at least Cuddy and Wilson couldn't accuse him of not trying.

He spent the first hour awake soaking in the tub while reviewing his thoughts of his meeting with Phipps. The hot water was relaxing his mind and body. Greg recalled the look of relief followed by fear when he told Phipps Roz was done, but he was not. He got more than he bargained for with that. The rose garden was an added bonus. Greg made a mental note to download the footprint to his email.

While dressing, he had a second idea. If he could find out that much on an unannounced visit, imagine what he might get if he made a date to meet the temptress/roommate from yesteryear.

Roz was weaned off sedation so that she could be evaluated. This was House's attempt at keeping her safe and sheltered at the same time. Cuddy wasn't exactly happy with this plan, but acquiesced after House reminded her that he was the best equipped to help her understand what was happening with her body.

While she slept off the last of the drug, Greg sat at her bedside rehearsing in his head what he planned on saying. Before he knew it, he was thinking about his own circumstance. Stacey had waited by his side. She was the first thing he saw on waking. It was a relief, and at the same time, terrifying. Her lips quivered as she smiled. It was a smile that didn't reach her eyes. In those eyes he saw guilt and fear.

Before he could ask a question or understand why he felt panic spread though his torso, he reached down to his thigh. It was still there. Then what was Stacey hiding that made her look at him that way? The leg was there, the pain was intense, intolerable but expected.

Greg reached out for her hand. She was hesitant in taking it. He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but she just started crying.

"Hey," Roz croaked. She was giving him the quirky smile that he imagined he gave Stacey.

Greg felt lost. He wanted to stay detached and calm; do everything he wished Stacey had done.

But Roz could see it all over his face. Whatever had happed to her wasn't good. She searched her mind for the last thing she could remember. "The Vicodin…I overmedicated."

House took her pulse for lack of any other distraction. "You've been skimming off the top of each stash you found."

"I'm not a druggie." Her tone was completely innocent.

Greg bolstered himself against the bedrail. "I imagine you did it because the pain got to be too much."

Roz closed her eyes to avoid his scrutiny.

"You could have said something sooner."

"I did. I talked to Barnes about it." She still avoided looking at him.

"And?"

"He said the pain was more mind over matter. Everything was physically fine. That I should take it up with my therapist."

"He did get one hell of a paper out of your case. I fear I'll have to write a follow-up."

She reached for his hand. "No. Let it end here. I'm tired of being a guinea pig."

Actions were always at the forefront of House's brain with words being the afterthought. He raised Roz to a sitting position before pulling back the covers.

She thought he was trying to make her more comfortable. She wasn't prepared for what came next.

"I'm sorry." Those were the feeblest words he had ever spoken. He knew damn well 'sorry' wasn't going to cut it; but what could he say? He gazed at her directly, letting her see what he was feeling.

She wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were wide with horror. A sound tore from her throat - a shriek of anguish so gut wrenching, House thought it must have been the same sound he made when he discovered what they had done.

He tucked her back in and held her hand while she wailed. He could at least give her these moments to grieve - unlike Cuddy, who sedated him back to la la land. At least she wouldn't have to wake up again and relive it. "Say something. Anything."

Roz's chest heaved and shuddered as the sobbing quieted. "I hate you," she said weakly, as she closed her eyes and turned her head.

On any other day House would have defended his position. Not today. He leaned into the bed to take weight off his bad leg. For as long as they held hands, he would stay at her side.

As the time passed there were so many things he wanted to say. Nothing sounded right in his head, so he was sure it would sound even worse if he spoke it aloud. He knew she had to have questions. It was possible she didn't know how to even begin asking them.

"Do you need to talk about this?" It seemed like a good start.

Roz turned, scowling at him. "You still here?"

House was concerned. She was practically cutting off circulation in his hand. Either she couldn't feel it or wasn't aware. Neither excuse was a good sign.

"I guess I could have left if I wanted to, but I interpreted your clutching hand as a sign that you needed someone here for support."

Roz looked down at their intertwined fingers and quickly pulled away. "I don't need you. As a matter of fact, I think I've already stated that I hate you." Again she gave him the cold shoulder.

Greg was stunned and slightly amused. Her tone didn't carry the gravity of her words. It was understandable. Did he really think she'd react any differently than he did with Stacey?

He met Cuddy at the Nurses' Station. She seemed to have been waiting for him and he wasn't sure why.

"How's she doing?"

"Let's see, she's angry, she's depressed, and she hates me. All's right with the world," he said walking past her.

Cuddy trailed after him. "Can you blame her?"

House whirled around. "As a matter of fact -"

Lisa held up her hands in surrender. "I know. I know."

"I've got things to do." Greg walked away, filled with self-loathing.


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46

This was it: 46 Carlin Street. Home of Roberta "Bobbie" Busby. Temptress, ex-roommate of one very dead co-ed, and potential murderess. Aside from the list of seemingly innocent questions he prepared, Greg's ruse both interested him and got him through the door.

At the front walk he couldn't help but smile. A white picket fence. The culminating element when one thought about the "American Dream" She had the house, with a garage, so he assumed there was probably a car in there somewhere. Probably had two point five kids and a dog. Hopefully if there was a dog, it was tiny.

Bobbie was at the door waiting for him. She was a petite, older lady, well groomed with a smile that was actually warming and made her eyes sparkle.

"I hope you don't mind; I thought we'd have tea in the garden." She led him through the house and out back onto the veranda.

House was not surprised at all to see a plethora of rose bushes - all just about as beautiful as the Professor's. "These are amazing."

"Yes, I do love my roses. They bring me so much pleasure."

Greg sniffed the air. "So fragrant and large. You must use Miraclegro."

"My prize winning blooms get nothing more than cocoa mulch and TLC. Miraclegro is, what _you_ might call 'an urban cheat'. So tell me more about your book, Professor House."

"I'm researching urban myths and legends and their effects and perceptions on modern youth." House pulled out his note pad with a list of questions he expected to ask.

"I appreciate that you allow me to bring up a situation that must be quite painful. Please feel free to stop me if the questions become too personal."

"You're very kind. I will try my best to give you the details and my thoughts and feelings of the time and now-if you think it will be helpful."

"I do hope it will be.

"Ms. Busby-"

"Bobbie."

House nodded pleasantly. "Bobbie, then. It was 1982?"

"Yes. I was in my second semester, junior year. Ellie was a second semester sophomore."

"Were you friends?"

Bobbie smiled awkwardly. "Not really. We moved in different social circles."

"How long were the two of you roommates?"

"Just that school year."

"Do you mind if I get a tad personal?" House didn't wait for an answer. "Did you know that your roommate was shagging the same professor you were?"

"Ah, the indiscretion," Roberta looked at him slyly. "And no, to the part about Ellie. I don't believe she was, but that seems to be the theory."

Greg could play shy too. This woman didn't know him. "How long after the affair become public knowledge did you break off your relationship?"

Bobbie's eyes moved up and to the right. A smile spread her lips.

"I see." House found this tidbit interesting.

"Do you now?" Roberta sipped her tea.

House mentally harrumphed. "So is it true? Was it true for you?"

She was a bit confused. "I'm not sure I follow."

"Urban legends. Did you get a four-oh that semester?"

"No. And academically I didn't deserve one either."

"The Professor give you an A?"

"He was the one that kept me from the perfect grade."

House's eyebrows migrated to his hairline.

"I suspect he didn't want to raise any suspicions; although his was the only class I deserved the A in."

"Wow, shocking." He hid most of his comment behind a tea cup.

They continued with some benign questioning until Greg thought he might die of sheer boredom.

They were just wrapping up the interview when a man appeared in the kitchen and popped his head out to the patio. "I'm home-oh I didn't know you had a…guest." The man seemed quite uncomfortable to see a man, particularly this man, with his mother.

"This is Professor House. He's interviewing me for a psychology book on urban legends."

Greg stood to shake the approaching man's hand. He felt a little insecure at this point.

"Dr. House, nice to meet you."

'Attack of the Butterflies' moved around Greg's torso in time to "Flight of the Bumblebees." He felt a revulsion he was sure he couldn't hide. _What the hell?_ His heart was pounding so loud in his ears, he was sure all of Princeton could hear it.

"Are you alright?" Bobbie was concerned with the way the two men were staring at each other.

"Yes, Dr. House, are you alright?"

_How did he know I was a doctor? _"I'm fine, just a little…" Greg reached for Busby's arm as he collapsed. "Sorry," he apologized for scratching Busby's arm on the way down.

"No worries, are you okay?"

"It's the bum leg," House feigned embarrassment. "I'm afraid I sat too long.

Both Bobbie and her son helped him to his feet.

"You have one incident of bad judgment and it follows you for the rest of your life."

"I'll call you a cab," Bobbie offered.

"No, that's okay. I've got my motorcycle out front." Greg played up the limp as they walked through the house to the front.

They parted congenially at the front door. Greg was just happy to be away from them. He couldn't wait to get back to the hospital and run a DNA profile on the skin cells he collected under his fingernails. Roz would be so proud of him.

He straddled the bike, secured the cane and put on his helmet and sunglasses. Greg was about to turn on the ignition when he froze. _He knew I was a doctor. He knew who I was. He probably knows this is my bike. He didn't offer to call a cab._

Greg grabbed his cane and dismounted the bike as quickly as possible. He was dialing his cell before he could think of what to do with the bike. "Wilson, I need a ride."


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47

House hid his extreme satisfaction behind his usual arrogant cockiness. He couldn't wait to tell Roz how clever he had been and all the crucial information he had gleaned. But most of all, he wanted to tell her about the bastard child of Roberta Busby.

Roz looked better. He could tell that just from looking through the glass doors. That and the increasingly animated way she was interacting with a visitor. Greg waited over by the Nurses' Station until that person left her room.

"Why are you here?" Roz glared at him upon his entrance.

"Uh, do I detect a little hostility?" House thought she'd get the irony behind the obvious statement.

"Who died and made you God over my life?" She was trying to maintain her composure.

"Interesting phrase: 'god over your life.' Not sure I understand. Feel free to elaborate."

"You're an asshole. Is that clear enough for you?"

"I've always been an ass. I've know it; you knew it." Greg shrugged like it was old hat. "Big woop."

"I don't have time for you or your attitude." The anger was starting to bubble up to the surface. "You can leave."

"True, I can leave, but I'm not going to."

Roz growled in frustration. "You have two choices: get out, or I'll have security throw you out."

"I'm your attending. You can't throw me out."

"You're fired; so yes, I can throw you out."

"I'm still not leaving."

"SECURITY!" Roz hit the nurse's button at the same time, making them come running.

The nurses stopped short upon entering, unsure what they were walking in to. House stared at his patient, who glared back.

"Make him get out," Roz demanded.

The nurses looked at each other with trepidation. One actually shrugged and walked out.

House smirked at that. He gave Roz a look of smugness.

"Give me your cane."

"Contrary to popular belief, it's not a pogo stick."

Roz was flush with anger. "You have two choices: either get out, or give me your cane."

House smirked. He figured she'd try to get out of bed, or perhaps just afflict a little discomfort for him without its use. Either way, he was curious. "I'll give you my cane." He registered her look of surprise. "I don't give up that easily." As he was handing it over, he saw malice flash in her eyes.

Roz snatched it away with ferocity. Before House could step back, she jammed it in his side. He reeled back in agony, falling over his feet and crashing to the floor.

"You're an idiot!"

Roz's shout after the apparent body dump made everyone come running.

Cuddy donned her lab coat while following Brenda to the ER. Her heals clacked mercilessly against the linoleum. "What did he do to himself now," she muttered with frustration.

Brenda pulled open the curtain with panache.

Lisa's first reaction was to laugh. The image her brain interpreted was that of House curled up in the fetal position sucking his thumb. Thankfully her analytical mind kicked in. She had seen him in pain across all of his tolerance levels, and this one rated pretty high. His face was scrunched up, one hand in a fist by his mouth, the other holding his side.

"What happened?"

"He says he fell on his cane."

"I could see how that could happen. He's only been using one for a decade or more." She approached him. "They take a lot of getting used to."

Wilson, on the other hand, figured that House had probably antagonized Roz, who was already in a fragile state. He left House in the ER to search for the truth. He started at the scene of the crime.

Roz was waiting for him, a self-satisfied smile on her face. He wasn't sure he was ready for what he'd discover.

"You seem…content." No other adjective quite fit the scenario. James picked up her chart to see if she was in a drug-induced euphoria. "How you feeling?" He realized too late how lame that sounded.

"Fucked over, how about you?" Her smile faded to something much less pleasant.

"Care to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Well it might be in your best interest to tell you side of the story."

"There are no sides to whatever story you heard."

"If we dust the cane for fingerprints will we find yours?"

"It was self-defense."

"He tried to strike you?" It was a question devoid of any inflection. More of a statement of disbelief.

"Not exactly."

James pondered that response in the same way he would have if he was questioning his best friend. "Okay then. You perceived he might strike you?"

"That's just plain stupid. That makes no sense."

A response just like House would give. He couldn't help but grin. "You two are like peas in a pod."

"Don't compare me to HIM!"

Wilson nodded in obeisance, backing off physically as well.

"He's a jackass and someone needed to knock him down a peg."

"And that someone was you. " Wilson regained the step he had just lost.

"Nobody will stand up to him. He thinks he can play with people's lives like we're toys in his messed up world."

"Yep, that about sums it up in a nutshell." James was nodding absently.

"What's the worst thing he's ever done that screwed with your life?"

Wilson wasn't prepared for that and it showed.

"See, he does it to everybody. And you can't single out just one event."

Somewhere deeply buried, there was half-truth in her statement. House's shenanigans had caused many problems. And at the time, they were world shattering…but not for long. His intentions were always good-just never presented in a way that didn't appear selfless. And almost always was James' life better for it.

"Whatever he did, it was probably in your best interest."

Wilson followed House down the hallway to his bedroom. He was carrying Greg's knapsack, more focused on his friend's forward movement potentially becoming backwards than anything else. He winced along with House's every step, never realizing how long the walk through the apartment could be.

Greg eased himself onto the bed and rested a few moments. It was then that Wilson figured he should probably do something useful like help him take off his shoes and lift his legs onto the bed.

"Gonna tuck me in, too?"

"If you want." Wilson arranged the covers until his friend was situated.

Greg let him do stuff like this every now and then. Sure it made him feel like an invalid and, more or less, juvenile. But he liked the juvenile part. The only time his father had tucked him in was usually under buckets of ice cubes. And his mother…well, he was usually sent to bed early as punishment for some reason or another, and everyone knows part of that punishment is that the incarcerated is left alone to think about the consequences of the infraction. Maybe if either one of his parents had been more like Wilson, his life wouldn't be so screwed up.

"You need or want anything else?"

"I'm good."

"Want me to hang out a while?"

"Whatever. I'm going to try to get some rest."


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48

It was dark when Greg opened his eyes. He had been dozing on and off since he got home. He was sure Wilson had already left until he heard someone walking around. Greg glanced over at his alarm clock. Almost two am. The house was completely dark. _Probably a bathroom break,_ he thought as footfalls approached in the hall. They stopped outside his door.

"I'm okay. You can head home," House mumbled.

He stood in the doorway as if he was contemplating it. A few seconds later he was heading for the bed.

_Could he be sleepwalking?_ "Wake up Jimmie. This is a boy-girl bed only." He had only said this to make it appear like he was still under the impression that all was well. Greg's brain, however, kept screaming '_buy_ _time_' while he tried to rationalize a way out.

The gun wasn't anywhere close enough that he could get to it in time. His cane was right there next to him, but his body wasn't going to let him move with the speed he needed to have.

The figure stood next to the bed and waited.

House decided to try to roll over.

"Take your time. I'm not worried. I know there's no knife hidden under the pillow, in a mattress or anywhere else in the room. Same goes for a gun."

Greg faced the man in the dark.

"I've been here before. Checked a few things out."

"What were you looking for?"

"The writing on the wall."

"Just the ramblings of an eccentric mystery buff."

"I know you recognized me today. I wasn't one hundred percent sure until you neglected to ride the motorcycle. Smart of you, but a waste of time. I didn't do anything to it."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?"

"It doesn't matter what you believe. All that matters is what I make them believe about you."

"Good luck with that," House snorted.

"Don't need luck. All the years of drug abuse is finally going to catch up with you." He shook a pill bottle.

Greg wanted to tell him that it would take a hell of a lot more Vicodin than that for him to overdose. "Like I'm going to willingly take the whole bottle." He just couldn't keep his mouth shut.

Busby leaned over and turned on the bedside lamp. A half full bottle of Jack Daniels was sitting on top of a metal strong box. "I see you recognize your own stash of morphine. I bet it comes in handy."

"Not really. Haven't used it in a long time. Stuff's probably expired."

"I'll take my chances."

Giving up was never Greg's game, but he saw no hope in taking this lunatic on physically. He watched the man open the metal box, take out of vial of liquid and a syringe. _Why do they always look so huge when you're on the receiving end?_ It struck House as funny that he tapped out the air. He would have died more painfully if Busby would have just injected a bubble or two.

Busby continued to lay out the drugs and drink, being very methodic about it. The last thing he did was reach into his pocket and offer House a cigarette.

"This is all I get for a last wish?" Greg sucked in the smoke, blowing it out into Busby's face.

Two drags. That's all he got before the fag was pulled away and gently snuffed out. "I'll need that for later."

He calmly poured a large measure of bourbon into a glass before grabbing the Vicodin bottle and dumping four or five pills into his hand.

House pursed his lips shut. He wasn't willfully going to help this psycho kill him.

"Do you think I would waste my time trying to force these down your throat?"

"The only other choice is to shove them up my ass," Greg said through his clenched jaw.

"What pleasure would you get from that? No, I'll have you begging for them."

He moved so quickly Greg didn't have the time to think, let alone react. White hot pain exploded through his thigh, shattered his consciousness and kept him from inhaling even though his mouth was open and air was being exhaled in the form of screams.

That was the plan. At least the gist of the first part. Busby dumped the pills in and forced the mouth shut. They'd either dissolve into a disgusting wad and eventually be swallowed, or he might dry swallow them. It was his choice.

"You want something to wash that down with?" He held up the glass temptingly.

House did his best to sit up and take a sip. The last thing he wanted was another elbow rammed into his body. But he wasn't allowed to take just a sip. His puppet master had skills at administering a full glass to others. The right angle of the head and pressure on the neck could force anyone to drink anything - even if it was aflame.

He let House's head and torso drop back on the bed. Everything was going as planned. It was almost too easy. He could have taken his time now and loaded the syringe, but he had wanted his victim to know what was coming.

House knew he was about to die. He expected bits and pieces of his life to flash before his eyes, just not as slowly as they were now. _God, why was Cuddy my first thought? _They were on the infamous desk. He could feel her and it under his weight. A twinge of guilt urged his thoughts to Lisa now. He had never reclaimed her. Never really knew how not to screw it up.

A wave of warmth lulled him. He and Wilson were laughing heartily at something. If he could only remember what they were laughing about.

Greg felt the pressure of the rubber tourniquet around his arm. He even felt the needle stick, but in a whole different way. The last time he felt this calm and at peace was - dare he think it…

Busby snorted with disgust at the dopey grin on House's face. _It was too easy. Way too easy._

He picked up the cigarette and walked to the living room. He lit it and the stack of papers on the floor at the same time. Busby tossed the butt over near the curtains and left.


	49. Chapter 49

Chapter 49

Fires in the middle of the night always seem to be the scariest. Maybe it's because people are usually asleep. Or it could be the sight of orange flames lighting the night like the open maw of a blast furnace. Fortunately House had some night owls for neighbors. That and the fact that a concerned detective added extra patrols in the neighborhood never let the situation get that far out of control.

It was the blaze of the century. It wasn't even a full blown structure fire, but news crews came fast as the call of arson and possible murder victim went out over the police scanners. It was the top news story of the hour and the first story on every morning broadcast.

And that's how the entire staff at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital found out. Cuddy's phone hadn't stopped ringing since 3:30 am when Detective Taylor contacted her. Her first move was to call Wilson. His first thoughts were to blame himself for leaving then asked questions.

The only thing they knew for sure when they entered the hospital together was that House was in an undisclosed hospital under an assumed name, and that Roz's room was now under armed guard with no admittance except for Cuddy, Foreman and Nurse Bobby.

The police had a suspect, but he had not been apprehended yet. Two other people had been detained for questioning, but no names were revealed.

Roz seemed to be suffering the most during all of it. Her level of agitation and refusal of treatment had Cuddy at her wit's end. It was Wilson who saved the day by having Natasha returned to the patient's side.

The dog was a tremendous help, as good for Roz as a few Valium.

Lisa wished she could take a few herself. There was no way she was going to get any work done. Especially with an anxious Wilson hanging out in her office. Not knowing House's condition was making them crazy.

Cuddy's phone rang. She snatched it up so quickly, Wilson could have sworn she picked up on the first tone. She nodded and "uh huhhed" a few times, her face displaying anxiety, relief and anxiety in the span of a few moments. She hung up and practically ran to retrieve her coat.

"Come on, they're taking us to House."

Within minutes the Dean of Medicine and the Head of Oncology were standing at the front doors waiting for the police cruiser that was sent to pick them up. They were driven away with lights flashing and sirens blaring.

Cuddy read the words: 'Burn Trauma Center' in the name of the facility. She grabbed Wilson's hand in horror. He gave it a weak squeeze. They were both thinking the same thing.

Detective Taylor met them at the door. He was less worried looking than both of the doctors felt. "We've got the culprit."

Wilson feared it was the only good news they were going to get. "Bully for you." What he really wanted to do was shake the guy and tell him they should have caught the psycho months ago, before any of this could have happened.

"That's good news," Lisa said, quickly covering for the normally calm doctor's faux pas.

"Dr. House is in ICU," Taylor was no dummy. He understood that their friend and colleague, and perhaps one of their lovers, had been to the brink of death and back. He led them the rest of the way in silence.

Wilson let Cuddy go in first while he talked with the doctor about his friend's condition.

Lisa trembled as she stepped into the room. She had no idea what to expect, and she steeled herself against the potential horror. Thankfully he appeared unscathed by the fire. With renewed bravery she approached the bed, very wary of the fact that this was not her hospital and, for now, House was not her patient. She was just a loved one visiting.

The last few months had taken a toll on Greg that she hadn't noticed until now. He looked old, more like seventy than fifty. The emotional and physical trauma was evident in the lines of his face. Lisa couldn't help but reach out and touch it. She caressed his cheek gently, trying not to tear up knowing his condition was grave.

He lay there unconscious, breathing via a respirator. She couldn't help but wonder if he had gone into full respiratory arrest at some point. Or if he had been hypoxic. So many unknowns, too many unanswered questions.

Wilson walked in just in time to see Cuddy's shoulders heave with sobs. He let her have a few moments to herself before stepping up and putting his arm around her. He looked upon his friend and understood what Lisa was imagining. If he hadn't talked to the doctors first, he would have thought House was dying, too.

"He looks awful." Cuddy tried to hide her sorrow with an awkward laugh.

"He's been through a lot recently. This could have been the final straw." Wilson looked at the various IV bags dripping in House's veins.

"Does anyone know what happened?" Cuddy dabbed at her eyes with a tissue from the bedside table.

Wilson put his hand on the back of his neck. "They think he was poisoned with a few substances."

"What are they treating for?"

James lifted one of House's eyelids. "His liver is failing. And one of the bags is Naloxone."

"Vicodin AND morphine?"

"The guys that pulled him out said they found him unconscious on the bed, holding his leg. The ER docs were smart. They ordered and angio and MRI after they stabilized him."

"You don't think-"

"They got a confession." Wilson debated a few minutes on whether or not he should tell her about the torture. "It was a perfect plan. The fire was overkill. We would have just thought he overdosed from the pain. It's kind of scary.

"Physically, in time he'll recover."

Lisa knew that Wilson was holding back. She was sure she didn't want to hear the rest. Not just yet.

House could hear them. Their voices were distant, but it was surely them. They were just beyond the periphery, their words like beacons guiding him back to the living.


	50. Epilogue

Epilogue

House labored through the lobby towards Conference Room A. Before going in, he pulled out the invitational note card to make sure he had the right meeting room. The venue was packed. He chose to lean against the back wall close to the doors in case he had to make a hasty retreat.

A man approached the podium on stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to a woman of great courage and strength, whose doctorate research not only helped to solve a cold case murder, but aided in the capture of an assailant who perpetrated a series of crimes around Princeton. Here to promote her bestselling book entitled "Diagnostic Forensics", Dr. Roslyn Santa Lucia."

Roz crossed the stage with a flawless gate, smiling and, what House would have to admit, radiant. He felt a pang of envy as he clapped along with the audience, although he lauded her for different reasons.

She took the podium and thanked everyone for coming. Roz acknowledged the crowd by glancing around the audience, suddenly stopping upon seeing him standing there. The last time she had seen him was at her graduation. He had stayed just long enough to see her hooded and the degree conferred. She could feel her smile widen, tears of joy welling in her eyes. She took a moment to compose herself before beginning.

"When we find a diamond in the rough, it is instinctual to take it from its natural element and buff it up to a nice shiny state and put it on display like a Christmas bauble. The better the stone appears, the more attention and money we pay. But that same diamond in its natural state is still as hard, still holds the same occlusions and clarity. Dressing it up doesn't change it. In fact, it hides a truer purpose: industrial use. Without these gems, we would have never known what they could reveal.

"Forensics looks at evidence much in the same way as a jeweler or machinist surveys a diamond. Is it real? What's it's veracity to, and more specifically, how does it fit in the case? Diagnostics takes that same clue and asks why does it exist, and even more importantly, what is its impact on the case as a whole.

"Take a simple footprint…"


	51. Author's Note

**Author's Note:**

First I'd like to thank all of the folks who have been following this and liking it…right up until the end.

There has been a "coup" of sorts regarding the ending of Assisted Living. I must admit, it is not as good as I had wanted it to be. I've had to think a bit on how I can add a chapter that would make the readers content while maintaining my style. In a day or two I will be posting an additional chapter to bridge the gap between 49 and the epilogue…stay tuned.

I hope you enjoy the other stories I've posted , and I promise to make my endings stronger!

Spid


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